


Mongoshitfacedtabletwisters

by epicionly



Series: Mongoshitfacedtabletwisters & Other Stories [1]
Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Family Drama, Friendship, Gen, K/S Big Bang, Kid!Spock - Freeform, M/M, Pre-Slash, Pre-warp Earth, kid!Jim
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-01
Updated: 2012-09-01
Packaged: 2017-11-13 09:06:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 46,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/501808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/epicionly/pseuds/epicionly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Takes place in a universe where Earth never achieved warp and communicating with aliens is the newest hobby of one bored kid from Riverside, Iowa. A young Jim Kirk goes through several key struggles, the Spock that exists in his universe becomes his best friend, and the Spock that comes from another universe gives Jim something he’s never gotten from anyone else.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mongoshitfacedtabletwisters

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the 2012 K/S Big Bang at LJ. This is my first Big Bang. And I have never finished a longer piece of work in my life.
> 
> Fun fact: The title is an actual lyric from a song.
> 
> Beta: [vojir](http://vojir.tumblr.com)  
> Mix: [k/s big bang mix](http://vojir.tumblr.com/post/28105642801/k-s-big-bang-mix-more-thats-okay-the-hush)

Jim was eight-turning-nine when he decided that communicating with aliens was going to be _the_ thing he’d be known for the most. Not the Combustion incident where he’d decided it’d be pretty cool to light himself on fire. Or Operation House Doctor where he’d been ecstatic about a case of ancient power tools he’d found stashed in the attic and had decided to take apart everything in sight. Being known as the kid who’d nearly burnt down half the elementary school? Or the one who’d nearly caused an entire section of drywall to collapse on a passing Mrs. Martha who was pushing ninety and everyone knew it? Please—aliens, definitely, were a lot cooler.

In fact, he liked the idea of studying aliens so much he wanted to make it his official job.

In hindsight, announcing his plans to take over the world via alien communication was probably actually a really good decision, but not one that would deserved to be ridiculed by Sam. Immensely ridiculous or no, Jim felt you had to give a fair chance to everything before you made fun of it.

“That’s interesting,” his mom said. The vid-comm these days was high enough quality that real-time wasn't an issue, but even through the comm itself it was hard to tell whether she was encouraging him or not.

Sitting across from him at the kitchen table, Sam rolled his eyes and peeled off the mushrooms from his pizza. “That’s stupid,” he said, because apparently once you reached a certain age, you had no imagination or excitement for anything you used to find kind of interesting. “Just like every time you take things apart and ruin them forever.”

“That was _one_ time, Sam!” Jim hissed. It wasn’t his fault that Sam’s sonic screwdriver had been left alone, innocently sitting there on the floor under Jim’s bed, unloved and untouched for whoever knew how long. “Besides, I can build you a new one, so what’s your problem?” Albeit, a new one that kind of would fall apart if you used it, but he was totally working on that.

“Yeah, what about the time with my PADD?”

“Which one?” Jim asked. When your mom was an engineer, and you lived in a tech-savy generation, it made no sense that you’d have just one. Jim had gone through a few himself in his relatively short lifetime. “If you haven’t been paying attention, we kind of have a lot.”

The fifth one,” Sam replied. “The one that I had to get because my fourth didn’t match school requirements.”

“The one with all the physics equations that you didn’t understand?” Jim shot back. “You threw it on the floor and then stuffed it into the recycler, dumbass. That was all you.”

“Play nice,” Winona said absentmindedly in the background as she chewed on her Hawaiian pizza. “Though I won’t deny I love it when you two get along.”

Sam scowled. “The replicator.”

“It wasn’t working, duh.” Jim gave him his best what-else-was-I-supposed-to-do look. “Remember? You got all pissy because you kept on getting sandwiches.”

“Bite me.” Sam was unimpressed. “You were unqualified.”

“To fix a replicator? Wow, Sam, your logic continues to astound me.”

“Remind me again who it was that nearly ended up shorting out the power generator?”

Jim narrowed his eyes. “It was necessary.”

“To fix a replicator?” Sam mimicked innocently.

“He was an hour late.” Jim said, defensively, tapping his plate with the back end of his spoon. He shifted when Sam's accusatory stare did not alleviate. His eyebrows furrowed. “Besides, I got it to work again.” If it making dying sounds whenever you used it and a kind of creepy screech whenever it finished was a ‘work-again’, then sure. “Kind of.” Sort of.

“Yeah, but he still charged us for the house call, and it doesn’t work right sometimes.”

“It’s like all of fifteen million years old, Sam. What do you want? Besides, you weren’t complaining when I hacked it so that you could have beer,” Jim accused.

“ _George Samuel Kirk_.”

“It was only one cup, Mom!” Sam shouted back.

“It’s still alcohol, and you know what my opinion on that is,” Winona said crossly. House rules, nobody under twenty-one drank alcohol.

“He was ten,” Jim added unhelpfully. “It was when you were in Canada.”

Sam glowered at him, while Winona Kirk on the other side of the comm screen frowned disapprovingly. “You are sodead,” Sam snarled.

“You think you could take this?” Jim demanded. “You couldn’t even hit me if you tried, because you’d just be punching _air._ ”

“That’s cool,” Sam said. “I could just stick out my foot and it’d solve the problem either way.”

“You couldn’t even _find_ me because you wouldn’t even know where to look.” Jim countered.

“What, you planning on going to the corn field again, farm boy?” Sam sneered.

“Bring it,” Jim said, baring his teeth. “I dare you, city boy. All of your electronics and you wouldn’t even know how to navigate.”

“Please, all I need to do is look for a barn.”

“My _mom_ could whup your ass!” Jim shouted.

“We _share_ the same mom!” Sam shouted back.

“You do realize I’m right here,” Winona said calmly. “And as much as I would love to sit here and chew my food with the grace of a queen while my subjects fight in the dirty art of trash-talking, I’d rather it didn’t have to happen.”

“He started it,” Jim said quickly.

“Doesn’t mean you had to make a comeback,” she replied, raising an eyebrow. “Be the bigger man.”

Sam snorted. “I don’t think he has it in him to be ‘bigger’. He’s so short he’ll never be able to see the sky without craning his neck.”

Jim shot him a dirty look. “Thanks, Sam, your input will gladly be translated from Asshole to English whenever I get the chance.”

“I think we were talking about aliens. And how nice it is for Jim to have a hobby that doesn’t involve accidentally burning things down or getting in trouble,” Winona said brightly, inserting herself in before any trouble could escalate. “Eat your food, boys.”

A few minutes passed in rueful silence as the antagonism between two biological brothers festered and burned, chomping down on their pizza slices respectively and tearing it violently as they refused to look away from each other's eyes. It was totally a challenge.

“Aliens? You’re joking. It’s a waste of time,” Sam said, chewing furiously. “What’re you going to do, make crop circles and hope you get abducted?”

“Your _birth_ is a waste of time,” Jim retorted. “If you weren’t so busy preening yourself as The Next _Dork_ win for the second year running, maybe people would actually take you seriously instead of dunking your head down toilets.”

“If we could stop arguing and appreciate that this is a once-a-week opportunity for all of us, I’d be happy,” Winona said warningly.

There was a pause.

“It’s not my fault,” Jim said to his pizza.

“Ditto,” Sam muttered.

Regardless, dinner finished in what apparently had to be a reasonable amount of peace, if it hadn’t been for the fact that Jim _might’ve_ kicked Sam in the shin, and Sam might’ve stomped on his foot in response, ending up in a weird game of antagonistic footsies. At one point, Jim flipped the bird, and Sam rolled his eyes.

If the Motherlord was aware of what going on, she didn’t say anything about it, but she did make funny noises in the back of her throat.

Instead of reprimanding them, she asked them about their week, all sorts of things that she’d missed out on being a stay-away-from-home mom. Sam told about what he learned in classes (with Jim making inappropriate comments on the side), and Jim talked about what he would do for his alien project (with Sam making I-will-crush-your-dreams-if-it’s-the-last-thing-I-do speeches in retaliation).

“Do you see what I have to work with here?” Jim demanded to his mother's more than amused face on the comm. “It's a miracle he's not adopted.”

Sam slammed the bottom of his heel on Jim's foot.

Jim kicked him back in the shin.

In the end, dinner ended like every other time. After a comment on how it really wasn't healthy to always eat pizza and please eat well you two, or else I'm going to get throttled, she listed off new comm frequencies to replace the old ones. Being that she moved around a lot, it'd become habit for either Sam or Jim to just reprogram the comm's speed-dial during any vid-comm with her, so neither of them blinked so much when the list involved five or six more numbers

“And that should do it,” she finished, looking marginally satisfied. “I'll be heading off, so you two should too. Promise me you won't fight too soon after you cut the connection?”

“Promise,” Sam said, at the same time Jim asked, “Do you even know who we are?”

Winona laughed and waved farewell in response.

“Aliens don’t exist,” Sam said, sure enough, right after they cut the comm connection.

“Shut up, Sam, not listening,” Jim said, elbowing him aside to open up a search. “I’m too distracted by my beloved aliens, so see if I care when you die a fiery death for your sins.”

“Oh yes, shun the non-believer indeed. I’m going to bed.”

“Don’t expect me to tuck you in.” Jim tried to sneer, but all it ended up doing was make Sam choke on his own saliva. “No lullabies for you.”

“Didn’t ask you to.” Sam ruffled Jim’s hair as he passed. “Go look up some alien porn or something when you actually get to contacting them.”

 Jim elbowed him in the side as he went, scowling. “Don’t worry, Sam, I’m sure they’ll be plenty interested in an asshole like you. Maybe I can lure them in with the bundle deal of all your naked baby pictures.”

“Please. I was sexy and you know it.” Pausing at the railing, he added, “You get to bed, too. It’s way past your bedtime, anyway.”

“I’m flattered, but you’re not really my type,” Jim replied smartly, and was rewarded with Sam rolling his eyes and heading up stairs.

“I’m serious,” Sam called. “Don’t make me comm Mom.”

“So am I!” Jim shouted back, but reluctantly turned in for the night either way.

–

New and exciting in Jim's life was a rarity.

It wasn’t like Riverside was full of anything new and exciting. It was a boring old town with everyone knowing everyone’s names and everyone growing up together. There was a hospital, a casino-golf resort for the tourists, a successive elementary-middle-high school bundle, two churches, and altogether seventy-two businesses, because in one of his fits of absolute boredom, Jim had decided to count. What sucked was that Jim couldn’t leave, Sam did whatever he wanted because he was old enough to, and his mom wasn’t home to really make up the difference. Long story short, it still sucked. Badly.

If he could, he would’ve been out of there when he was six. But the thing was, there wasn’t anything outside of Riverside that he hadn’t seen before. Field trips with his class where all they'd visit would be dumb corn mazes were the bane of elementary students. Several outings where he’d tag along with his mom and Sam looking after him weren't entertaining either. No ambition, no desire to do anything different than the norm. After George Kirk had died in this town, trying out a new thing was the least anyone wanted to do.

Despite the rather expected response to it at dinner and the fact that his mom, in any case, technically approved of it because it wouldn’t hurt anyone or provide as much risk and danger as any of Jim’s last hobbies, Jim rather liked the idea the more that he thought about it—even if Sam had to be obnoxious about it.

If there was anything Jim wanted to devote himself to, it would be something most people would consider too ridiculous to even get involved in. Forget other fields. The more people told him it was a stupid idea, the more they said that he’d be better off studying something else, the more Jim was inclined to go on with it. He’d never been good at following orders. An impulse inside of him always wanted to do the opposite just because he could, and just because at no matter what age, Jim didn’t much like the idea of being told what to do.

Besides, if he hadn’t decided on aliens, he was pretty sure he’d go crazy. Hobbies, in general, were things Jim went through faster than Sam did his nerd pants. And that was saying a lot.

\--

“Aliens don’t exist,” Sam said the instant he stepped through the front door, because he was a dick like that. “Just like your common sense.”

“Your _face_ doesn’t exist,” Jim replied, eyes not moving from his PADD. “Just like your intelligence.”

Because Sam wanted to be cool, this conversation happened every day. Jim didn’t mind, because it meant that they could be dicks together. And while he didn't like to admit it, he'd kind of grown to appreciate having someone who didn't take offense to every little thing.

“Say some more, oh eloquent one,” Sam said, “so I can plead guilty to the judge with a clear conscience.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” Jim said, with as much despair and regret as he could muster. “I couldn’t resist. His face was just too close to the recycler.”

“Haha, very funny.” Sam peered over his shoulder and swiped the PADD from his hands, holding it up and walking away. “Though, really? Still communing with the non-existent? You must get along really well.”

“Yeah,” Jim said smartly, trying to snatch it back but failing due to an unfortunate size disagreement. “I call it Operation Let the Aliens Know Sam's a Shithead. In our spare time, we throw slumber parties, exchange makeup secrets, and style each other's hair.”

“Seriously, Jimmy?” Sam said, ignoring him. He scrolled through the many pages Jim had accessed within the past hour, eyebrows furrowing in disbelief. “Wow, I’m sorry I didn’t take you seriously before. I’m looking at all this and the only thing I can think is that this is kind of sad.”

“Oh, like watching plants grow and torturing animals is any better.” Jim lunged, but Sam moved it out of his reach, grabbing the stylus off the table.

“‘The Society for Planetary SETI Research’, ‘Intelligent Life in the Universe’, ‘Searching for Extraterrestrial Intelligence: An Archaeological approach to Verifying Evidence for Extraterrestrial Exploration on Earth’—why are you reading all of this crap? You should be studying for an actual field. Not alien-dumb-ology.”

“Watch out, Sam,” Jim said sarcastically. “Your scientific prowess is showing. Also, it’s called xenology, so biology can just suck it.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Look, biology is a field that can be useful. It’ll help people. Aliens, on the other hand,” he made a cartoon doodle of what looked like a circle and some sticks on the screen, “I mean, nobody’s even seen them.”

“Uhhh, no idea what you’re talking about,” Jim said, giving Sam his best Son-You-Stupid look. “Aliens exist. There are witnesses. People’ve talked to them. Abductions, remember? And I’m not going to spending my entire life on them—it’s just something to do until I get bored.”

“You are going to die in a cardboard box if you keep this up.”

“Keep what up?” Jim asked suspiciously.

“You know,” Sam said dismissively. “Trying to find what isn’t there.”

Jim narrowed his eyes and scowled. “That’s not what your mom said last night.”

“Jim, how many times do I have to remind you we have the same mom?” Sam asked exasperatedly. “Fun fact: Yo Mama jokes are useless against siblings.”

“Leave me alone.” This time, Jim managed to snatch the PADD way, and sat back at the table, feeling enormously annoyed for some reason or another. “I don’t try to falsely predict your future about something you like.”

“Aliens,” Sam reminded.

“Right, because squashing my innocent dreams isn’t enough for you.”

“Jimmy, don’t be stupid.”

“Hi, pot. I’m kettle. Let’s rendez-vous at the stove, shall we?”

“The crazy house called,” Sam drawled, ruffling Jim's hair. “They want their reputation back.”

“Thank you, Captain Obvious.” Jim shot back, elbowing Sam in the side. “I’ll redirect their call to you in about a few minutes.”

“I’m afraid what I’m going to find once they root around your brain when you’re dead,” Sam said blearily. “Really. I raised a mad scientist and he wants to waste all that on _aliens._ ”

“I go against my training because I am an elite ninja assassin who grew up racing in the cornfields. They call me Jim de Cornyamaru,” Jim said very seriously. A few seconds later, he scowled characteristically at his screen. With a disgruntled look, he turned his PADD around so that his older brother could take a look. “Sam, can you give me the access codes for these? It’s being a dumbass again and thinks I’m actually nine.”

“You’re a brat no matter how big your brain grows,” Sam replied, but did so, tone smug as it was fond. “Did you eat a snack yet?”

“Since you’re in the kitchen, why don’t you go make me a sandwich,” Jim said, not looking up.

Sam didn’t answer. Instead, there was the sound of the replicator dying, whining, and doing what it always did.

When Jim did look up, he was rewarded with a sandwich somehow replicated in the shape of a middle finger being held very seriously on a plate by his older brother. “Oh, that is a _nice_ move,” Jim complimented, taking it from him and demolishing it in about three bites. “You gotta teach me how you did that,” he said, voice somewhat muffled around what was in his mouth so it actually sounded more like Jim was swearing at him in some new language instead.

“Not bad for a human,” Sam said instead. Then other things came out of his mouth that made Jim’s eyes widen.

“You’re such a big closet Alien lover,” Jim accused. “There’s no way you’re not.”

Sam just laughed.

–

While he’d never been privy to doing research, Jim at least did well if he put his mind to it. Hobbies just made up the brunt of anything he spent his time on. He looked up and ended up downloading entire sheets of alien codes onto his PADDs because getting aliens to translate binary was the next big thing. If he wrote ‘memorize that shit’ in big red letters on them with his stylus, it was just further motivation. The Fermi-Hart paradox was pretty much, to quote the late Fermi himself, ‘ _Where are they?’_ , so Jim figured he was at least on the right track.

After a few weeks, it became almost natural for Sam to make some disparaging comment whenever he got home, all the while keying in some access codes into Jim’s PADDs so he could search through larger databases. Hypocritical of him, maybe. But unwelcome help? Definitely not.

For Sam, it was less of a hobby and more of a Jim-tivity to be mocked. For Jim, it actually was pretty fun, even if, after a while, he did more research on actual possible alien biology than actual communication how-to. Coming across some guy comparing detention and rejecting the already current theory that aliens communicated in math just because was just the bonus, especially since Jim liked that a lot more than most of the scientific articles he found.

At one point, while Sam replicated some more Flipping Bird sandwiches and Jim sat at the kitchen table like a proper man, they started talking a bit about things like whether or not it was necessary to get a good history of the types of people and the civilizations who were all concerned about it. Or rather, Jim said it was stupid, and Sam being Sam thought it was kind of important. Sam was kind of dumb sometimes.

“It's important,” Sam insisted.

“It’s not,” Jim said. “Because nobody cares.”

“If you want to be serious about it, you should,” Sam warned, setting the plate in front of him.

“It’s okay. I’m working out equations, so this kind of stuff isn’t important.” Jim shrugged. With almost no manners, he dug in. “Sam, your sandwiches are getting worse. Maybe we need to up your testosterone balance.”

“No, seriously, Jim.” Sam shot him The Look of Ye Big Brother. It was the kind of look that told you to shut up and do as you were told, and Jim hated it to a deathly degree. Sam knew it too, bastard. “Do it.”

“No,” Jim said.

“Yes,” Sam said.

“I’d rather choke on my own foot,” Jim said, kindly setting up for a foot-in-mouth line. Unfortunately, Sam wasn't being a mind-reader today.

“Than do what?” Sam leaned back. “History?”

“Can’t I just skip to the part where I communicate with aliens and they think I’m the shit?” Jim asked. “I’d like that a lot better.”

“Feed your ego another time, Jimmy,” Sam said. From his bag, he pulled out his PADD. “That being said, chew on this. I put it together myself. Should help, if anything.”

“Wow, Sammy. You’re actually helping me? You realize this is even more hypocritical than giving me access codes.” For good measure, Jim gave him a long look. “Nope, still Sam, from what I can tell. You can’t get rid of that ugly mug.”

“I can’t be nice for once without my looks coming into play?” Sam asked exasperated. “Okay, look.” Reaching over, he took the stylus and opened a few pages.

A sound came out from Jim’s mouth that wasn’t human.

“What is this witchcraft?” he demanded, but he was hooked either way, fingers tightening on the edges of the PADD.

“To be paid for in credits, thank you,” Sam replied.

“This is blackmail and you know it,” Jim said, scrolling through, but he probably looked way too happy for any discontentment to be real.

“Physics, because it’s you,” Sam said from over Jim's shoulder as Jim flipped through each self-compiled page. “Alien codes because apparently aliens can’t speak English so we get them to translate our binary instead. Page from some person who went through this whole spiritual-telepathic trip across the universe with aliens until 1984 because why not. Discussions on how to go about intercepting alien communication because we have to be creepers now, and some videos regarding how our technology is so inept that, no, don’t even think it’s possible to contact them. And—move your finger—some more in depth CETI stuff. Seriously,” Sam demanded. “Who the fuck names something CETI? Sounds like some kind of mythological creature.”

“Acronyms are mind-blowing stuff, yes, I know,” Jim said reassuringly. “Don’t hurt your head.”

Sam ignored him. “All that and random shit you kids love because apparently drugs aren’t exciting enough for you anymore.” He raised an eyebrow. “I did it all during English, so you’re _welcome._ ”

“It’s because you don’t even like English.” Jim snorted, but he grinned anyway. “Dude, why don’t you be the big man and do all the research for me?”

“How about no, do it yourself?” Sam asked, but settled down anyway and grabbed Jim’s PADD from his bag because Jim was just that side of persuasive.

One whine about the fact that Sam was being unsupportive in this lovely family house was more than enough to get Sam to help out a bit. That meant between his enthusiasm for Physics and Sam’s combined background in Biology and The Study of Things Jim Has an Attention Span For, work ended up being split fifty-fifty on the practical side.

It was pretty awesome. Especially if Sam made things easier by linking him to relevant information he came across along the way, and Jim retaliated with linking him to more relevant information.

“Do I even want to know what this is?”

“Dancing kittens, c'mon. You know you love them.”

 

\--

 

Somewhere between looking up information and going back to Sam for confirmation on some things as the days passed by, they ended up talking about what kind of ways people used to communicate with aliens. Jim figured that it was only because they didn’t have enough power back then, so he asked whether or not it would be better off building something in the garage, or pretty much just building a separate lab for it entirely. Maybe not, since the house was pretty much—or at least, the generator itself could be hacked to be—more or less powered to oblivion and back (and if Sam seriously had no idea how the Motherlord managed to get permission for _that_ , and the Motherlord herself didn’t want to answer, then they’d never know), they didn’t have to worry. It turned out to be less exciting than it could have been, because Sam had to be concerned over the energy regulations.

“You can’t just change the numbers around just because you want to. It’s illegal,” he insisted. “Even though it would be hilarious to see you behind bars.”

“Your face is illegal,” Jim said, because if he wasn’t a good brother by how amazingly witty that default comeback was, then he was most certainly now.

“You’re getting more and more creative every day, I swear,” Sam muttered.

“Less talk, more telling me what I don’t want to hear,” Jim said. “What?” He asked, right after Sam shot him a look. “You’re going to do it anyway.”

It was a low blow when Sam refused to serve Flipping Bird sandwiches that night, but random discussions with Sam on how to go about intercepting alien communication became more charming every time Jim brought it up, because from what Jim could conclude as he learned more, creepers were totally the next big thing. If aliens hadn’t been observing Earth by now, they may as well have been for all people had to say about them. Some vids declared technology so inept that there was no way to contact them beyond sending the messages several light years. Others mentioned that in the possibility of contact, you might as well try to impress them with mathematical brain kung-fu. And then, there were the parodies. The glorious parodies. Jim saved those, because humour was always awesome and welcome, and Sam always abandoned what he was doing to go watch them with him.

On a clearly excellent whim, Jim even searched up alien genitalia. After being showed the most clearly disagreeable picture Jim could find, Sam refused to even look at his PADD for a week without being promised up and down that it wasn’t anything that would scar him for life. Jim swore on it, especially on threat of all his precious data being suddenly attacked by a virus, but secretly went back and installed a better firewall, just in case.

Later, after roughly a month of research and genius moves, he presented to Sam the most perfect thing ever.

“What is this?” Sam asked suspiciously as he scrolled through the PADD Jim had just passed him, but relaxed, minutely, at the lack of anything remotely iffy. “Doctrines?”

“Not exactly.”

“What do you mean ‘not exactly’?” Sam asked. “How exact do you want me to get? Here ye, here ye, I beseech all who listen to hear to the incredibly stupid laws of his highness Jim Kirk?”

“They’re not stupid,” Jim argued. “Also, they’re not laws. They’re schematics for my master plan, so suck it.”

“Master plan being—oh no,” Sam said, horrified. “I pumped up your ego, didn’t I? Shit.”

Jim punched him in the shoulder. “Master. Plan. It’s flawless.”

“No,” Sam said. “No, it isn’t. First off, stupid title. Second off—” Sam peered closer at the PADD, and then shoved it at Jim’s face. “What the hell is this?”

“Oh, that’s the part where I ask exactly all the obnoxious questions I can,” Jim said, after shoving it back so he could actually see. “I left it open because you know me and scripts, but key words just in case I forgot anything.”

“Most of these would get you punched in the face,” Sam commented, half in awe (damn right), and half in incredulous disbelief ( _jealous_ ).

“It so happens I have a great-looking face,” Jim said. “So if anything, they’ll feel obligated to tell all their secrets as soon as they lay eyes on me.”

“There is no reason you have not been run over by a car yet,” Sam said, as firmly as he could.

“Many have tried,” Jim announced. “Many have failed.”

“More like nobody wanted to bother. So what’re you planning? Master plan for ruling the world?” Sam asked wryly.

“Sam, Sam, Sam.” Jim sighed. “Do you not understand how things work?”

“No, I’m kind of lost, actually,” Sam said wryly. “Why don’t you wait until I borrow a tractor, you can lie still on the road, and I’ll put you out of your misery?”

“Just wait until you see what I put at the end of the list,” Jim said with a grin.

Sam did so, and then froze.

“Alien sex organs,” Jim supplied helpfully, laughing like a maniac, just as Sam let out a yell.

It wasn’t until Mom comm'd to check up on them that Jim managed to narrowly avoid an early death.

“Having fun?” she mused, as Sam groaned from where he’d collapsed on his bed because zilch stamina did he have.

“You have no idea.” Jim grinned.

\--

Probably about a year passed from the point Jim announced his project upon that faithful night and Jim right now with his official on-again, off-again alien hobby. On-again and off-again, as in some days he felt like just lying on his bed and staring at the alien code in his PADD, and for weeks on end he’d do nothing but play games on the comm or finish up homework that he didn’t want to do. At most, his hobbies usually ranged anywhere from one whole minute to several months, and Jim never came back to them if he could help it, so it was a good sign that aliens and Jim were meant to be. Sam'd given up long before the quarter-year point, but he still stuck around for Jim to tell him about how progress was going when Jim actually was doing something.

Hijacking satellites was ancient stuff, and if anything, comms could now reach astronauts who were floating around Earth in real-time, so Jim figured he could piggyback any outgoing frequency signal pretty easy. He’d spent roughly a part of the past year researching about irrelevant things and not knowing where to start, true, but aliens hadn’t suddenly come out of the proverbial space closet and helped out, so there was nothing but the same junk for a couple of centuries. Technically, the most useful information Jim had was outdated, so really, he was working from scratch.

The most awkward thing that Jim would never admit to anyone was the fact that he’d actually honestly started the alien communication guru business trying something new. New as in his mom had never done it, and new as in Sam wouldn’t have thought to do it on his own in a million years because it wasn’t true science.

–

By show of habit, Jim checked the comm for messages the instant he arrived home. He found a read one from his mom, asking how he and Sam were doing, and apologizing because she couldn’t make the scheduled dinner tonight. Not that Jim had remembered in all the excitement that had happened the past few days, but he felt let-down all the same. Every week, she made sure there was at least one night where all three of them could eat as a family, even with the ever-changing distance and time zones. The fact that she couldn’t keep it with them was a sign that eventually, these weekly dinners were going to turn monthly, then maybe yearly, and then maybe not at all. Unsettling to say the least, but Jim resaved the message just in case Sam had wanted to keep it.

Sam wasn’t in the living room when Jim checked, and neither was he upstairs, but he’d left a note on the kitchen table when Jim searched there.

 _Went out, don’t replicate shit._                                                                        

Sam’s communicator was probably out of power. It did that a lot these days, so Jim wasn’t really bothered by it. But a handwritten note? Watch out, guys, Sam was bringing back the 21st century. In appreciation of this momentous occasion, Jim tossed it into the recycler.

What was he going to do today? With Sam not complaining over his shoulder, Jim figured messing around a bit with the comm was a good idea.

He’d decided earlier on in the week that Fuck Research, he could do this alien communication without ripping his hair from his head. There was a kind of satisfaction with getting your hands either all greased up, or knowing you might vehemently just screw something up but doing it anyway.

It was a relatively good idea, considering that Jim was kind of getting tired of being mocked. He wasn’t easy to anger, but he did figure there was a limit to not accidentally electrocuting Sam when he was in the shower. The Prank War of 2339 had ended in the Motherlord earning her title and both he and Sam suitably abashed and forced to be obnoxiously nice and polite with each other and walk each other home from school every day for a month.

It didn’t bother Jim in the slightest that he’d never really been prone to follow what other people told him. The more that Sam told him that this was stupid and wouldn’t work out, the more Jim wanted to see it happen. And that, he supposed, was great for the aliens.

The first thing he did after dumping his stuff beside the chair was find a sonic screwdriver in the toolbox kept under the sink. They had a lot of toolboxes in the house, especially downstairs because the basement doubled up as a work area for whatever needed tinkering and connected to the garage.

The second thing Jim did was pry open the comm. He’d always been privy to taking things apart and putting them back together again, but it was mostly because Jim had always wanted to make something of his own.

Maybe it was a guy kind of thing, but either way, Jim was only opening up the surface panel so he could manually change the comm frequency. He’d done this more than a few times in the past, when the Motherlord had put up a block and reroute for certain frequencies. The first time he'd tried it, he'd gotten busted so badly she'd upped the block security. The second time, though, he'd tried using one of Sam's old access codes as a proxy, and had figured out how the block subroutine worked as a whole. He'd ended up focusing a lot more on tweaking the comm little by little so that Mom wouldn’t notice, but he had a feeling that all it would take would be one mistake before she realized something was up.

It wasn't until Sam came back around midnight that Jim realized he'd dozed off somewhere between trying to hack into the block and find some unsuspecting and unprotected frequency to hop onto. The lights were on only because Sam had turned them on, and Jim felt himself be nudged up, before he jolted awake, shoulders hunching and nearly falling out of his chair as Sam helpfully didn't do anything.

“I'm awake,” Jim said, in the middle of trying to both figure out when it was that he somehow managed to get the imprint of the PADD on his face and what year it was without feeling like a really hairless and better clothed caveman.

“Aww,” Sam cooed. “Did wittle bitty Jim-Jim get get sweepy while I was away?”

“Die in a fire,” Jim shot back as he stood up. “And I hope people spit in your casket.”

There was no real edge to it, though. Sam helped him avoid stumbling as they both went upstairs, but that was it.

–

It’d been alright in the beginning, when there were still things to learn that Jim didn’t know squat about, and Sam had actually thought having a little brother to teach the physics he learned in class was kind of cool. The kind of trust their mom had in them not to burn down the house was alarmingly modern for most people who liked to talk about it, but it’d become the norm for all three of them that Jim never thought twice about it. It was easy to adapt to the long absences and lack of parental supervision when your big brother was just as reckless as you were when it came to home experiments and impulsive testing for anything random under the sun. It was even easier to handle when their mom checked in on them every once in a while, presumably to make sure they hadn’t managed to kill themselves off. Now, Jim was ten, still no different than he’d been years ago, but things were changing, and those things sucked, sure, but he dealt with them.

When the problems actually began, Jim didn’t know exactly, but when he’d noticed, it wasn’t like he’d thrown a huge tantrum about it. Just an “oh, okay” thrown somewhere. He’d left it at that. So Sam had to stay behind after school? That was cool. Sam was going to check out the next town over with his friends? Pick Jim up some parts from this catalogue here while you were at it, and Jim would work a bit more on figuring out what kinds of frequencies he could use. Jim needed access codes? Here, Jim, have all of them, stop bothering me, I’m on the comm. Jim had known it was just a matter of time, but letting it bother him was like admitting he actually _liked_ Sam. Or missed him.

He didn’t blame Sam when he was busy and he couldn’t be there for Jim to brag about what he’d looked up. High school was rough. Apparently the toilets were dirtier, suddenly the girls got a lot more interesting, and spending time with your friends instead of your little brother was less emasculating. It wasn’t like Jim actually needed him to help out or to bounce ideas off of, either; Jim was good at research, just didn’t have the patience for it all. Things were slow because there wasn’t much incentive, but it didn’t mean Jim couldn’t handle it. It’d been Sam who’d shown him the ropes in the first place, after all.

“Uh,” Jim said, the fourth time I-can’t happened, and Sam was making a big deal out of it. “Maybe you should just say you can’t make it? It’s fine.”

“No, no,” Sam said. “Look, I’m really sorry, okay, Jim?”

“Dude.” Jim fixed him a look. “I get it. School assignments. Excursion next week.”

That was what he said, and he stuck by it. Sam looked too relieved for Jim to even guilt-trip him into anything.

The thing that bothered him the most was that instead of being confused as to what was happening, Jim recognized what it was. Sure, when things became different, it was understandable to be apprehensive, but at the same time, you didn’t have to be scared of it. Stuff happened. People happened. They came and went and then they left, and how much they mattered did matter so long as you let them. No matter how long Jim thought about it, he couldn’t get the thought that it just one thing to worry about or just one thing to miss out of his head.

It didn’t really hit Jim in the face (because Sam doing his own thing had been something Jim had always known would happen, so it wasn’t this huge surprise) until there was a quick recorded message on the comm one night. Suddenly Mom couldn’t even have dinner with them at _all_ for two months, even though she’d practically channelled Satan to get her evil ways of eating dinner together, even despite the distance the years Jim had been growing up. It was almost like being cheated out of it, never mind how unintentional or how much she couldn’t control the circumstances.

 _“Sorry, boys,”_ her vid-comm message said, and her eyebrows were furrowed as much as her tone spoke of apology and annoyance. Sometimes her colleagues were the best in the world, and sometimes they shit on cakes and ultimately ruined everything in this beautiful world that wasn’t free food, freedom of speech, and being as generally awesome as a Kirk. _“But as you know, business calls, I have to make a living, and everyone’s an ass about it as though I don’t have two guaranteed genius kids that I love to the end of my days._ ”

She had a job and she loved it, even if she had to make sacrifices along the way. Jim had known it, Sam had known it, and for all they were concerned, it’d been easy to adapt to it. So one time Mom couldn’t make it. That was cool.

The thing was, one time I’m-sorry-I-can’t-make-it for became a lot of times of sorry-not-this-week-slash-month-slash-several-months either.

Jim was starting to think that it was happening way too often because it came to the point he wasn’t even surprised to hear the tell-tale beep when he got home. Plus, it wasn’t like Sam was always home for Jim not to pay too much attention to it. These days it felt like he needed to be somewhere else that _wasn’t_ home.

Maybe Jim was just thinking too hard on it, but things were changing, and it’d be stupid to think they weren’t.

Suddenly Jim kept expecting someone to die, because that was what they always did in the movies before you became hyper aware of the situation. And then he asked himself what would happen if someone _did_ die, and what if that someone was him.

It was kind of scary to think about his own mortality. Or philosophically, but Jim wasn’t being picky.

He ended up fidgeting everywhere and kept running up and down the stairs until Sam yelled at him. Then he did it some more because it pissed Sam off, and if anything, that offered Jim a way from thinking too much about what would happen to Sam years down the road, or Jim. Whether or not anyone would think of them, or think of themselves.

Maybe it had something to do with being ten that you started having serious thoughts.

Or maybe it had something to do with the fact that Jim didn’t want to see what would happen next.

–

Jim’s eventual brilliant solution to the young-age crisis was to channel his insecurities and fluctuating self-worth into the comm and what he was going to message. It was surprisingly reassuring that he still had a purpose in life. Even if said purpose in life meant not really knowing if there was going to be an outcome at all.

So, codes. You used codes to translate your messages into English, because aliens couldn’t speak English. Sucked to be them, actually. Jim actually had the alien thing memorized the first time he'd noted codes in his searches, but there was this small voice at the back of his head that said it was pretty stupid. Either they spoke English, or they assumed Jim was saying something unflattering about their mothers.

In fact, his first initial impulse had been to make a message so tastefully offensive that they would have no choice but to respond. That was the problem with people nowadays. They were way too afraid of picking a fight. Jim knew for a fact that E.T. was small, really oddly cute in a way, and just really wanted to go home. So, if he thought about it, maybe the aliens really were curious about them, but Earth was kind of too stupid and focused on itself for them to feel welcome.

It was hard enough to send aliens a message if it was a secret code you’d made up all yourself. So what, with alien codes? You wanted the aliens to start decoding your shit to figure out what you had to say? What if it didn’t translate out right, anyway? In conclusion: English. That was how Jim was going to go. The secret club language had been stupid to begin with.

Of course, fantastic self-conclusions aside, Jim had legitimately spent the past two weeks debating on what message to send. He’d scribbled all over the empty pages in his PADD, and ran searches all the time in search of a brilliant idea that hadn’t been overused. Originality was the furthest thing Jim could expect when mankind had been trying to come into contact with aliens since whenever, but if he just tried his best, Jim figured it was enough to warrant some appreciation.

Then again, Jim was pretty stubborn.

He frowned down at the screen, twirling the stylus in his hand.

Maybe he should go with an, _Anybody out there?_

No. That was overused.

Maybe a _Hi._ Yeah. That was good. Simple, short, and so damn neutral Jim couldn’t screw this up even if he tried.

Unless, of course, they decided that greeting someone was the rough equivalent to telling them to fuck off. Jim would totally be on board for learning all about that.

He tried sending it out, after which he spent roughly an hour working with the comm because it wasn’t sending properly. When he tried again, the message itself didn’t go through.

“Dammit,” Jim said, and stubbornly tried to figure out where he’d screwed up.

\--

On manual, Jim tried another three million different frequencies. It got so tedious that Jim didn’t even know what he was doing anymore, and several more weeks passed. Jim took to throwing random obscure things around the house from the roof and seeing how far he could land, each time a frequency didn't work, before that became too much impractical and Sam started getting on his case about where everything was.

It also might have made Jim unreasonably excited when one day, the comm pulled up a message in reply to his _Can you please just answer I’m dying over here._

Considering it said, _Tracing your coordinates,_ and not, _Fuck you_ , Jim figured he was entitled.

–

This was another comm frequency, different from the first working one, but Jim figured it'd work. To his dismay, it actually bounced back several times. Maybe it was only the first comm that could be received, but Jim had gone over others with care. At the moment, he was getting more and more visibly frustrated.

If he thought about it, it really didn’t make sense that the frequency codes that didn’t work on Earth would work for aliens. But then again, why not? If it worked, it worked. If it didn’t, he’d try some other way. Maybe extend the reach or try rapid-sending it to some random frequency, or even try to hog a line off someone else if it turned out to be too far of a comm. Anyway, one of them was bound to hit, and that was all that Jim really cared about.

He tried the first one again. It didn’t bounce back, true, but unlike the first time, there was no response. Either it wasn’t getting picked up or the receiver was out of range.

Jim frowned, just as he heard the front door slam open.

“Hey, welcome home for once,” Jim said, as Sam stormed into the kitchen, and began to punch something into the replicator. “How’re you? Good? Yeah, I’m good too, thanks for asking. School was pretty—”

“Jim,” Sam said sharply. “Shut up. And what the hell are you doing to our comm?”

“ _Wow_ , what crawled up _your_ ass and died?” Jim liked being sarcastic. It was one of the only ways to deal with Sam and his inexplicable moodiness all the time.

Sam, apparently, didn’t appreciate the beauty of a good sense of humour in his age of finding-oneself. If Sam had asked nicely, Jim could have told him without all the drama. “I need to use it, that’s what.”

Jim looked pointedly at all the spare parts scattered on both the kitchen table and the floor, and then back up. Clearly if Sam couldn’t tell that using the downstairs comm was kind of impossible, there was no hope for him.

 “Yeah? No. Use the one upstairs.” He jerked a thumb back. “I’m busy with this one, thanks for asking.”

Sam gave him a dirty look, and not in the incest kind of way.

“What?” Jim was not going to let days of effort go to waste. How long had he spent inputting frequencies manually? Especially since patience was a quality Jim had yet to really possess. “I had it first, I’m counting something here, and I’m not losing count just because you want to call your _giiiiirlll_ friend. Oh wait,” he said after a beat. “That’s right. You don’t _have_ one.”

They stared at each other before Sam scowled and left, his footsteps pounding against the stairs in what was unmistakably a temper tantrum. “Make sure you put it back when you’re done!” Sam shouted. A moment later, there was distinct thumping from upstairs where probably Sam had just shoved Jim’s stuff off onto the floor. “And stop leaving your shit on my bed!”

“Is that an order?” Jim shouted back, mimicking the crass tone.

The door upstairs slammed close in reply.

“All hail Princess Sam,” Jim rolled his eyes, and inputted the next frequency. Whatever had decided to crawl up Sam's ass was insanely dramatic and happened way too many times to even be concerned over. “Okay, attempt number five _gazillion_ , bitch,” he muttered, jabbing Send. “Lay it on me or go home _._ ”

It took the comm several minutes before it sent the message over. To Jim’s surprise, he received a reply not even two seconds later.

_< <<How have you obtained this frequency?_

Okay, so random message asking how Jim got the frequency. Jim could deal. It wasn’t as official as the other one had sounded, the one that had sounded kind of like real reply and not the friend on your list who would send you a message and demand who you were even if they had been the one to add you on years ago. Still, it was a message, which had to count for something.

The truth, if he were to respond with it, was probably that he was dicking around, but then again Jim liked to get to the point when it came to the finer things in life. In this case, it was figuring out if aliens did exist and communicating with them. Because _seriously,_ out of the many centuries humans had been around, how had they _not_ discovered them yet?

But wait. What if this was a human? Jim needed to check, just in case.

 _Are you an alien?_ He sent back, instead. _I’m human. Jim Kirk. Height’s a secret, but I’m blond, blue-eyed and totally sexy and smart. Do you guys have dicks? Do you even know what dicks are?_

He got the reply immediately.

_< <<I only asked how you had obtained the the frequency. Any other information is irrelevant._

The guy (or girl?) was seriously ignoring the dick question. There was a _reason_ Jim asked it. Oh well. No real loss, anyway, but Jim decided to default on the side of caution and assume this was a guy.

He shrugged, fingers flying over the keys before he hit Send.

_> >>Well, too bad. My secret, no dice. Again, dicks. Since you didn’t answer, I’m assuming you know.  What does yours look like?_

_< <<This is a private comm line. You would not have been able to find its frequency through normal means. As well, I request you refrain from these inappropriate questions. They are highly invasive._

Jim snickered. Oh, this guy was _swell._ Who even typed like that?

With a huge grin, he responded, _Oh yeah, did I mention I was a genius? Also, so you’re totally a freaky-ass alien, right? You didn’t deny it. That being said, do your females have dicks too? Holo-pics or it didn’t happen._

There was no response. Jim waited all of a minute before he sent out another one.

_> >>Hello? Anyone home?_

Nope.

_> >>Heeeeeeyyyyyyyyy???????_

Okay, did he have to be obnoxious somehow? Jim wasn’t afraid of that. Obnoxious was his middle name, along with obstinate and stubborn. Even his mom could vouch for it. Sam? Sam just grunted these days, so unless you spoke troll, no help at all in the references department.

_> >>yoyoyoyoyo_

_> >>yo?_

_> >>bro_

_> >>bro don't do this to me_

_> >>HELLO_

_> >>ANYBODY OUT THERE?_

_> >>Okay, so if I seriously offended you or anything, I’m sorry? No, but seriously. This is for the greater good of mankind. You have to answer that question._

_> >>About the dicks._

_> >>Though if you could answer if you were out there, I'd appreciate that too._

If Jim didn’t know better, the alien might be blocking his comm signal, or ignoring his comms. That was _not_ cool—didn’t he know how long it’d taken Jim to actually find a frequency that _worked?_ What did he want, Jim to write an apology letter?

 _Geez_ , Jim thought. The things he did to be the first to know.

_> >>Okay, I’m serious about the greater good thing. It needs to be known. It’s like, ego booster and everything._

_> >>Also, random thought._

_> >>Do you actually use your dicks for sexual reproduction, or do you use it like an elephant does with its trunk and pick stuff up with it?_

_> >>I’m totally not judging if that’s the case._

_> >>I’m so non-judgmental._

_> >> REALLY_

_> >>Super cool if you could send me a holo-vid, because SEEING IS BELIEVING IF YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN._

Okay, maybe the guy was dead? Because no replies.

_> >>Why aren’t you responding? Hey, are you a real alien, or are you just some nut-job doing this for the shit?_

Still no answer.

Jim frowned.

_> >>Seriously? Did I hurt your feelings? What’s up with that, are you a girl or something?_

_< <<You seek to ignite an emotional response._

Okay, so instead of responding to dicks, the guy (girl?) responded to girls and feelings. Jim didn’t doubt the off-chance that his comm might’ve been sent to another person instead of out in space, but it was still pretty awkward. Especially if the tone in the reply was almost...surprised? Or something?

 _Duh_ , Jim sent eloquently.

Insert questionable silence as though the other person was actually trying to figure out what to say that wouldn’t end up in one-word answers.

_< <<I also do not understand why gender determines as a possible derogatory insult._

_> >>It’s not. My mom’s a girl and when she gets mad, she plots. I'm just making sure._

_< <<I am not female. By that definition, I am not plotting, either._

Jim couldn’t help it; he snorted.

>>> _Aliens._

_< <<Are you asking something of me, or are you merely stating it because it amuses you?_

_This **asshole**_ , Jim thought, with a big grin on his face.

>>> _Okay, seriously. Are you an alien? As in, “TAKE ME TO YOUR LEADER” take over the world kind of thing where we become your mind-slaves and save the environment?_

Another lull.

Jim was starting to hate talking to whoever is on the other end, no matter how marginally amusing his responses tended to be.

>>> _Hello?_

_> >>Simple, small, underdeveloped human male here, I know. Might the big bad alien grace me with a few more words?_

_> >>Heeeyyyy_

_> >>Yooooooo_

_> >>Heyeheyehhyeyhefshdgg_

_> >>sdlfkrt8ghjbhsdfidsfj_

_> >>039ruij;oKLFSDfdslf;kjdsf_

_> >>LGJGHGH_

_> >>I lagged. Did you comm me in that lag? If you did, I didn’t get it._

_> >>Also, I hope those were swear words in your language._

_> >>It’s your fault._

_> >>You lagged up the comm somehow by not responding._

_> >>Take responsibility._

_> >>Hey._

_> >>Heyheyhey._

_> >>I’m going to replace you if you don’t answer._

_> >>I swear I will._

_> >>I will!_

_> >>I’m serious!_

_> >>You’ll be sorry when another alien gets me as his best friend. You’ll be like, I **knew** that guy!_

_> >>Crying your alien tears as you watch on the alien TV._

_> >>Eating your alien ice cream and sobbing into your alien pillows._

_> >>Looking up at the poster of me on your wall._

_> >>I’m **incredibly** photogenic, you know._

_> >>Are you sulking or something?_

_> >>Hey, what’s your name?_

_> >>Can I call you E.T.?_

_> >>Bob?_

_> >>I seriously don’t want to go calling you Alien. It’d be like you calling me Human. Rude._

_> >>Should I assume you’re just a regular person?_

_> >>I bet you are._

_> >>Did you blacklist my comm frequency? If so, you have no taste._

_> >>I can do this forever._

_> >>Sooner or later something’ll slip through._

_> >>Or I could hack it._

_> >>I’m good at hacking._

_> >>Though if you were on a super high-tech system, I don’t think I could._

_> >>But I’d try anyway._

_> >>How fast is your comm system?_

_> >>Do you even use a comm?_

_> >>Hey._

_> >> If you could be any alien species, what would you be?_

_> >>A Grey?_

_> >>Reptoid?_

_> >>Chupacabra?_

_> >>Seriously, I can’t get over how stupid that name sounds. Who the hell names an alien Chupacabra? It sounds like the lovechild of Chewabacca and a cobra._

_< <<It would be illogical to assume another identity when I am already a Vulcan. _

“Vul-what now?” Jim demanded aloud.

_> >>What the hell is that?_

_> >>Hello?_

_> >>This is no fun. What kind of a human are you?_

_< <<I am **not** a human. As I have said, I am a Vulcan._

_> >>Vulcan? Vulcano? Give me something to go off here. What do I call you? Should I just say Vul and leave it at that?_

_< <<You may not call me anything. I am far from desiring an epithet._

_> >>I gave you my name! JIM KIRK. Sexiest name ever! It’s only fair!_

_< <<If you will recall, it was never asked of you. As well, to judge the attractiveness of a name, much less your own, would be arrogant or narcissistic in retrospect. Furthermore, your argument becomes invalid as both are far from admirable qualities._

_> >>Touché._

_< <<Touché?_

_> >>Well played, my friend, well played. I’m just saying that was a good argument, and let’s move on. I do that._

_< <<I am not your ‘friend’._

_> >>Why not?_

_< <<I do not know you._

“Wow,” Jim said. “Really?”

_> >>We could start?_

_> >>Hi, I’m Jim Kirk._

_> >>I’m allergic to everything in the world._

_> >>Even peanuts._

_> >>It’s a miracle I’m not dead yet._

_> >>I also don't have any pets._

_> >>Which is a crime, I'm telling you._

_> >>I would own them all if I could._

_> >>Create my own zoo._

_> >>Blah blah blah I am amazing blah._

_> >>Your turn._

_< <<You realize it is highly unlikely after you have given to insult me that I would accept your offer?_

It seemed alien dude was a little too fixated on the being friends thing. You’d think he’d never had one in his life.

_> >>Of friendship? If you don’t want to, fine. Why are you even responding if you don’t want it?_

_> >>You know you do._

_< <<No._

_> >>You do._

_< <<I do not._

_> >>Yes._

_< <<No._

_> >>Yes._

_< <<No._

_> >>Yes._

_< <<No._

_> >>Yes._

_< <<Cease this._

_> >>AHAHAHA I CAN GO FOREVER_

_> >>YOU WILL NEVER BE ABLE TO ESCAPE_

_> >>Aaaannnd I’d make some sort of movie reference here, but I’m not sure you’d get it._

_> >>You should beam down on Earth sometime. I’d show you the best ones. _

_> >>All the classics._

_> >>Terminator and Mary Poppins included. In that order._

_> >>So many of them in my attic. It's like a museum. A dust-collecting museum where you do your tours yourself._

_> >>Real 21st century and shit._

_< <<It is fairly time consuming to decipher your scrambled messages. I request that you lower the speed of your transmissions._

_> >>Scrambled?_

_> >>Wait, so if it was scrambled, what were you able to get?_

_< <<I was not._

_> >>You couldn’t read it?_

_< <<Not your first one, no._

_> >>Uh, not understanding. Which was that one again?_

_< <<I was only able to obtain the comm frequency itself, weak as it was. Installing a subroutine into comm program itself only made sense, but my systems are only capable of doing so much without aid._

_> >>Sooooooo_

_> >>Basically, you’re doing this sort of alien surgery on all the messages I send you so you can read it?_

_< <<Affirmative._

_> >>I knew it. You like talking with me, don’t you? Admit it._

_< <<Vulcans do not ‘like’. There is no logic in expressing a baseless preference for something._

_> >>Really? Because I like talking to you too._

_> >>Mostly because you don’t flip your shit, but also just because I have no idea._

_< <<Your reasoning is confusing._

_> >>Confusing? No, it makes perfect sense, because a) I said so, and b) I said so._

_< <<Those are poor reasons._

_> >>What are you talking about? Those are great reasons._

_< <<Your reasoning is flawed and illogical._

_> >>Are you saying I’m flawed and illogical?_

_< <<You are exasperating. It is not the same thing._

_> >>If that's supposed to be a correction, I would argue against that. I’m charming! Charismatic!_

_< <<<Hardly viable._

_> >>Was that an insult? That was an insult, wasn’t it?_

_> >>Holy shit. Did you just insult me?_

_> >>That’s fine._

_> >>I mean._

_> >>That's great._

_> >>This is getting exciting._

_> >>Bring it on._

_< <<Bring what on where?_

Jim seriously couldn’t handle it. Really?

_> >>Dude. It’s this expression or something. I’m challenging you. Not actually telling you to bring chicken wings to the picnic._

_< <<My name is not ‘Dude’._

_> >>Then what is it?_

Jim almost wasn’t prepared for the moment of hesitation that followed, or when he actually got a name.

<<< _Spock._

_> >>Spock? What kind of a stupid name is Spock? Nice name, though._

A pause.

_< <<You are very contradictory._

_> >>Well, yeah, duh. I’m a contradictory person. Contradictory is one of my middle names. Besides obnoxious._

Well, to be incredibly fair, Spock sounded like a dumb name you’d name your human kid, but an awesome name to name your alien kid. Obviously, since Spock was an alien kid, his parents had done alright. Jim wasn't going to begrudge him that, never mind the fact that he also realized that Spock may or may not have also rhymed with another interesting word.

_< <<You expressed disgust and ridicule, and then complimented me._

_What?_ Jim asked, humouring him, because it sounded like Spock was either in awe, amazed, or confused. Jim was okay with it, since that usually was the typical response to him. _Never had a friend before?_

This time, he wasn’t surprised when Spock didn’t answer.

\--

After dinnertime rolled around, finished, and Sam went back upstairs, Jim logged back on.

_> >>Spock?_

No answer.

\--

Jim was bored. So bored. As soon as he came home from school, he tried again.

_> >>Yo, Spock! You there?_

Nothing.

\--

On the third day of this, Jim tried again for a last time. If it didn’t work, he’d go take apart something or surf all the frequency channels for the rest of the night. Or bug Sam.

_> >>Spock?_

_< <<I am not allowed to respond to you as that would violate the Prime Directive._

Okay, good that Spock was responding, bad that they were violating something. Whatever it was, Jim hoped it was like violating the walls with obscene pictures of penises kind of violating, and not the actual bad kind.

Considering how serious Spock seemed to be, it probably was the bad kind. Prime Directive sounded pretty serious. Whatever it was.

 _The fuck is a Prime Directive?_ Jim asked, because whenever Jim didn’t know something, he obviously needed to know.

<<< _It is a social order in which we do not contact pre-warp civilizations or affect their internal affairs in any way, especially those in study._

_> >>Why? Also, you’re studying us? I knew that all along, but you admitting it right off the bat on the second date makes it really creepy._

According to the Spock, he’d already done enough damage. He wasn’t allowed to talk about who he was ( _Too late_ , Jim sent. Spock replied, _Indeed)_ , or what his purpose was ( _My purpose in life is to be annoying_ , Jim sent, to which Spock replied, _Jim_ , like he couldn’t believe Jim wasn’t taking this seriously, which Jim _was,_ honest), or doing anything that would affect the planet’s workings as a whole.

 _But you didn’t, though,_ he sent. Jim honestly thought it was a load of bull, but Spock didn't seem to think so.

_< <<I may. By contacting you I have deliberately failed to obey the Directive._

_> >>That didn’t seem like a problem before._

_< <<I was compromised._

_> >>Compromised?_

Spock didn't answer.

_> >>Hey, Spock. So calm down?_

_> >>First off._

_> >>You didn’t affect us as a whole. I didn’t tell anyone. No kaboom or people running into the streets screaming about alien invasions._

_< <<Your planet has a right to develop without outside influence._

_> >>We’ve done fine up until now._

_< <<Yes, with the upholding of the Prime Directive. _

It didn’t look like Spock was going to fold anytime soon.Jim's eyebrows furrowed.

_> >>Spock, you want to know what I think?_

_Forgive me,_ Spock responded, and he sounded almost too apologetic for Jim’s comfort, even if it was only words on the comm. _I had not assumed you would have had an opinion._

Oh, okay that. That was Spock being just fine.

Asshole.

Jim actually might have been worried. Still was, though.

>>> _Harrharrharr._

_> >>No, I’m thinking you guys are way too_

_> >>I don’t know the word_

_> >>Well I **do** know_

_> >>Just isn’t coming to me_

_> >>Stiff?_

_> >>Awkward?_

_> >>Rule-oriented?_

_> >>SOMETHING._

_> >>Let’s change the subject._

_> >>Why don’t you just tell me all about Vulcans?_

_< <<It is a violation of the Prime Directive._

Jim rolled his eyes.

_> >>I can make poorly informed assumptions or I can make well-informed assumptions, Mr. Spock._

_< <<I refuse. You will be unable to convince me._

Jim had the sudden impression that Spock _wanted_ to argue, almost like he wanted to pick a fight on purpose.

Following his gut instinct and unable to stop the grin that was now on his face, Jim typed three words:

_> >>Bring it on._

_\--_

Due to his ever amazing charm, in the following argument that ensued that might have included name-calling (Jim) and logically valid points (Spock—and Jim too!), Jim managed to get Mr. Vulcan-Spock or Spock-Vulcan or Spockity-Vulcan or The Ever Vulcany-Spock (this was starting to sound like a circus name) to concede and tell him all about Vulcans. Spock even admitted he was impressed after the lengthy debate, but that was more in part due to the fact that they spent roughly two hours arguing this point and Jim had a way with arguments that left even the most seasoned debater trying to figure out where he got all the energy.

Ha.

Jim = 1, Spock = 0. Jim totally was keeping track.

His ultimate conclusion for Vulcans, however, wasn’t so flattering.

From what Jim could make from Spock's reluctant explanation (which didn't so much contain name-calling as it did Jim completely interrupting Spock every so often to the point that the guy himself just got annoyed and actually told Jim to shut up, but less direct and more implication), Vulcans were these emotionally repressed (if humanoid, so that meant they weren't squiggling masses of goo or anything) people who lived on a really hot planet that was mostly, as close as Spock could agree to when Jim described it, desert. They ruled by logic because about a few centuries ago, they’d actually been wild barbarians killing everyone until one Vulcan named Surak had gotten tired of the whole shebang and said, “I’m going to be logical right now.” All the wild, violent, bloodthirsty guys eventually got pissed off and killed him, but then they moved to other planets in the galaxy and left the whole peace loving Vulcans behind.

Which, really, opened an entire window for _more aliens_ , but Spock continued, and Jim realized that he really did like reading what Spock had to say.

Unfortunately, Spock had to leave at that moment, and that was the end of that, though he promised ( _Aren’t promises illogical?_ Jim asked, just because. _It is not illogical if I intend to keep them_ , Spock replied, and Jim couldn’t argue with that) he’d continue the next day.

\--

The next day Jim really _was_ glad that he’d decided to argue with Spock. While Vulcan as a species wasn’t that interesting, Jim figured it was because he had yet to actually meet Spock in person. Nothing beat actual experience. Vulcan as a _planet_ , on the other hand, was _fantastic_ and won all the arguments. ** _All of them._**

There were freaking _lava_ pits (Spock called them the Fire Plains and Jim was not ashamed to laugh and refuse to explain), a fucking _volcano_ that erupted regularly (Spock couldn’t seem to understand Jim’s enthusiasm), a shit-load of caverns (Spock actually did know what rock-climbing was, but didn’t confirm or deny if he did it—he totally did, Jim thought jealously), a few oceans and lakes ( _I can swim_ , Jim sent smugly only to be ignored), a sacred mountain (actually, it sounded  pretty sacred to the point that Jim didn’t make fun of it at all because getting cursed by an alien was never a good idea), a fucking huge and deadly desert called the Sas-A-Shar Desert (whoever named these things were _trying to kill him_ ), and a mountainous area that was apparently for a coming-of-age survival test called _kahs-wan_ that happened in said desert _._

Jim wanted to know more about kahs-wan because it sounded like _the ideal_ preteen induction into society—did you have to stab something or eat raw meat?—but no, Vulcans were vegetarians and found the consumption of once-living flesh kind of repulsive (as food, not in general, but Jim got the impression the average Vulcan would tolerate very little of him until he charmed them over with big grins and white, non-blood splattered teeth), but Spock refused to tell him anything more, or anything about his own experiences with it, asides from being told it was ten days without food or water or weapons.

Ten days.

Without food or water or weapons.

Just plain survival.

 _Why am I not a Vulcan yet?_ Jim demanded. _Someone explain this injustice. I want to be a Vulcan!_

 _Biologically, you are human,_ Spock pointed out in his own Captain Obvious way. Jim was considering promoting him to Admiral. _It is physically impossible._

 _I could be an honorary Vulcan!_ Jim argued.

 _No, you could not,_ Spock said. Ruining Jim’s dreams was officially a thing now.

_> >>You could make me one!_

_> >>All you would need to say is, “I officially decree you an honorary Vulcan!”_

_> >>It would be beautiful!_

_< <<I do not see the purpose to this._

_> >>C’mon, it’d be fun!_

_< <<Being a Vulcan is not ‘fun’._

_> >>Next thing you’ll say is that Vulcans don’t have fun._

_> >>Oh no._

_> >>No. Don’t you dare._

_> >>I know what you’re thinking._

_> >>SPOCK, DON’T YOU DARE._

_< <<Vulcans don’t have fun._

_> >>DSFSDK:GHSDFDSF _

_> >>Also, hey! Your first contraction, congrats!_

After that, Jim managed to pester Spock into telling him more about whether or not they had any animals or creatures that weren’t humanoid living there. Spock offered the marsupials and the sandworms, but Jim wanted the bigger stuff.

>>> _Seriously? Why would I want to know about kangaroos?_

_< <<Marsupials are defined as any viviparous, non-placental mammal with a marsupium._

_> >>Oh my god. Pouch breast feeding and live birthing. Kangaroos and possums, good to know._

>>> _Aren't you supposed to be an alien? Don't you have anything flesh-eating and dangerous?_

_< <<Perhaps you should be more concerned in respects to your tendency towards carnivorous wildlife rather than the more scientifically fascinating._

_> >>Rejected. Scientifically fascinating wildlife for you would be zooplankton or something. I'd bet you'd looooveeee to study the bottom of the food chain._

_< <<An understanding of any organism living in a select ecosystem is beneficial to the understanding of life itself, be they of small or large size._

_> >>Spock and zooplankton, sitting in the sea, communing through wriggling appendages, I-N-G._

_< <<I would recommend reconsidering your stance. The science of life is inherently fascinating._

Spock, Jim thought for a brief moment, would get along great with Sam.

After a bit of heckling, Spock told him about wild animals called Le-matya that lived around the foothills of the desert where he had done his kahs-wan. They were big enough to make you shit your pants and not only rip you into pieces, but poison you to death with fangs and natural-born yet rhetorically poisonous claw polish. Jim approved, even if Spock didn’t understand what claw polish was. He seemed both scandalized and alarmed to learn that some humans painted the nails on their hands when Jim explained the joke. It was _great._

Then there were the sehlats, which were even _better_ , because they were these aggressive yet domesticated pets that were _huge_ and furry, but by no means less dangerous when they also roamed around wild. With six-inch fangs. Six. Inch. Jim almost wanted one for his own and was all set on trying to convince Spock to ship one to him via transporter or some equivalent until Spock didn’t want to talk about it.

Talk about obnoxious.

>>> _Really? You're going to leave me hanging like that?_

Jim's incredulity or not, Spock was a literal brick wall in the world of implied feelings connected to words, and made like a train being directed to a new set of railroad tracks.

_< <<Perhaps you would prefer to know where Vulcan is located?_

It was a fully intentional, totally obvious attempt to change the subject, but Jim's interest was piqued.

 _Yeah?_ He sent, interested, despite the fact that he wanted to keep pressing about the sehlats. _Where?_

Spock told him. The fact that he told Jim was worth more than its weight in gold, especially since Spock added, reallyhaughtily after that (with his first double message ever, someone break out the food and drinks!), _There is really no point in telling you, since you will be unable to locate it._

Jim waited for it.

_< <<And I am not ‘haughty’._

_Your **face** is haughty_ , Jim replied gleefully. Understandably, he was both excited and also kind of cheesed off at the same time. How that was possible, he didn’t know, but Spock made a whole lot of things possible, so Jim decided right then and there to either argue against it or shut up about it when he didn’t like how it was going. Most likely the latter was never to see the light of happening.

 _My face is incapable of such an thing_ , Spock replied.

>>> _You **so** look haughty right now, don’t lie._

_< <<Vulcans do not lie._

_You realize this is on grounds for me totally arguing about it, right?_ Jim asked. _Because everyone lies. Though I can see you having no emotion because you’re such a **damn robot.**_

 _As you constantly say: Bring it on,_ was Spock’s (almost, because Jim _could_ tell, and then he couldn’t at the same time) earnest reply.

Jim wasn’t surprised to find their argument turning into an entire debate about emotion versus logic, and then turn into subjectivity versus objectivity, but it was alarmingly surreal how much he looked forward to each of Spock’s replies. Spock brought up really interesting points, even if Jim didn’t necessarily agree with most of them. He had a lot to say once you got him to talk. Jim approved.

Personally, Jim couldn’t understand why they couldn’t have been arguing about something like this earlier. It didn’t stop him from teasing Spock, though, especially when Spock somehow (miraculously!) managed to understand that Jim wasn’t trying to insult him. Much.

<<< _Jokes as they may be, they are in poor taste._

_> >>Lighten up, Spock. I do it out of love._

>>> _So, logic. That’s what you guys go for? All the time, through and through._

_< <<Yes._

>>> _Wow, that’s boring. No variety._

_< <<On the contrary. Logic allows for the calm discussion of ideas and the ability to reach a consensus without violence or other means of persuasion._

_> >>You can’t be that great of a Vulcan. Logic doesn’t work like that. There’s always something that’s like, the outlier or something. Sometimes you need to have an opinion on something._

_< <<Vulcans are individuals with unique purposes, ideas, strengths, and weaknesses. We simply do not share these as freely as humans seem to._

_> >>I’m not saying Vulcans don’t, because you sure as hell have a lot of opinions. But they’re all practical ones._

_> >>Not that it’s bad or anything._

_> >>But I think you have it in you to make a few illogical opinions yourself._

 “Jim, are you _still up?_ ” That was Sam’s voice, and Sam didn’t sound happy, even if he sounded half-asleep too.

 _SHIT,_ Jim sent. _My brother’s pissed.  Same time tomorrow?_

There was a pause.

 _I would not be amiss to it,_ Spock sent _._ It sounded really careful, as though Spock didn’t know for sure that he was confirming it.

Their last sessions had always been just sure-let’s-do-it if the other person/Vulcan was on, and always started with a reply to a comm. There had never really been anything planned.

Jim was kind of scared too, but usually he was a hit and run kind of guy. Act first, think about consequences later.

 _Catch you on the flipside,_ he sent, before Spock could change his mind. _No call-backs._

“Jim, who the hell are you even talking to at three in the morning?” Sam asked from right behind him. Before he could read the screen, Jim locked it and put it into stasis.

“No one,” Jim said immediately.

“No, seriously,” Sam said, eyes narrowing.

Turning around, Jim gave him a flat look, and raised an eyebrow. Channel the uptight alien, and Jim would totally win. What Would Spock Do, totally dependent on the asshole factor.

“Sam, please,” he said as smarmy as he could. “I don’t ask who _you_ comm-sex.” Okay, maybe that was more Jim than Spock, but that was still cool, right? It’d still work, right? “Even if I do get more ass,” Jim added.

A beat longer, and Jim would have been left to sweat it out. Instead, Sam’s new tendency to ignore almost everything in the face of more sleep won over.

“Get to bed.” Without another word, he turned and lumbered back upstairs.

That was too easy. Way too easy. Usually Sam put up more of a fight, or wouldn't budge until Jim came with him, at which point there was no way for Jim to come back down. If he gave up like this, it either meant he had something bigger planned for Jim, or he was going to tell Mom. Which? Not a good idea.

In alarm, Jim turned off the comm and shot after him.

“Sam! Don’t tell mom.” He passed him on the stairs and stopped at the top. His brother halted and stared at him, one side of his mouth drawing back in displeasure. “Please,” he added quickly, as Sam shoved past him. “Please, Sam, I’m serious.” He stumbled after him. “Sam, you can't tell her. Don't tell on me.”

Sam grunted, but didn’t say anything. Once he was collapsed on the bed, with Jim trailing after him, he stopped moving.

“Sam?” Jim asked tentatively, still standing beside his bed.

“I won’t, so shut up,” Sam grumbled, then rolled over.

Jim sat in the dark on his unmade bed for a moment, before he took the hint and lay back. He didn't feel sleepy at all though, body restless, mind still running through the snark and amazing conversation that he'd had with Spock. Rolling over, he looked at Sam's back and wondered what Sam would be like if he actually knew about Spock.

“Sam?” he tried.

“What?”

“Something really cool happened today.”

As he waited for Sam to respond, he wondered if it'd always been so hard to start a conversation with him, or the last time he'd had a conversation with Sam that didn't involve either insulting each other or asking default questions you'd find in a manual.

“Good for you,” Sam said at last.

“Aren't you going to ask?” Jim asked, when there was no forthcoming statement.

“Why would I? I don't care.”

Jim stared at his back, but there was no movement, no rolling over, no interest. It was strangely disappointing in its own way.

He tried one last time.

“Sam?”

“Go the fuck to sleep, Jim.”

“Fine, your highness,” Jim muttered.

Sam didn't answer.

Rolling back and forth, Jim was unable to relax or be able to find peace in not moving. It reminded him of a time when he was younger, when earlier bedtimes were his bane and when Sam was asleep and Mom was downstairs doing whatever she did, Jim would get fresh air. He'd felt stifled then, restrained by a bedtime when all he really wanted to do was run around everywhere and climb everything.

“Sam?”

There wasn't an answer, but just in case, he waited another ten minutes.

“Sam?” he whispered, when he couldn't wait any longer. “You awake?”

His brother didn't stir, so Jim took that to be a good sign. He slipped out of bed and avoided the creaky parts of the floorboards as he crept forward. Inching the window open—it was one of those that just needed to be unlatched and pushed out from the bottom because the cinch was only on top and you could prop it up once it was open—he clambered up. Once he was on the ledge, he slipped out, head first, and crawled onto the roof. His bare feet were perfect for helping to pull him up, and once he took in a lungful of air, he felt practically rejuvenated.

Everything was quiet. Out here, once everybody turned in, they turned in. No exceptions. Everyone was asleep, even if it was a Friday night. There wasn't much to gain with staying up late, or partying here. There was just the same old routine, the same old night.

The only difference, Jim thought, as he settled himself on the very top of the roof and breathed in the night air, was that it was hard to get tired of nighttime. Out here, everything was dark, and the only light came from the sky.

There wasn't a moon out tonight, but between the clouds overhead, Jim could see stars. Sitting here, about as close to space as he could get right now, Jim wondered what Vulcan would be like to live on, or if Spock actually needed to sleep, and what the beds on Vulcan would be like. He wondered if Spock had a brother, or if Spock had both parents or just one like Jim did. The sky he had above him definitely wasn't the same as Spock's because they lived in different systems (Jim being in a solar system, Spock being in what was apparently a Vulcan system—so what? Did all the other planets revolve around Vulcan or something?), but he wondered all the same if Spock had any stars or moons, both plural or singular respectively.

At one point, he could have heard something drop heavily in the distance, but there wasn’t anything on the comm frequencies of town when he checked the communicator in his pocket, so he let it be.

**\--**

Saturday meant no school. Sam was sleeping in because that was what teenagers did, but Jim was up and at it as early as he always was, even having slipped back into bed in the early hours of the morning with Sam none the wiser. Blankets might have been appealing with their warmth, and there might have been the insatiable urge not to greet the world at large, but Jim still had too many things to do _not_ to wake himself awake.

Spock didn’t reply when he comm'd, but that was to be expected because it was way too early than their regular time and of course Spock wouldn’t waste time hanging around the comm (not that Jim was wasting time). Jim figured either he was at school (Vulcan schools were apparently _this_ side of intense with learning, and Jim really, really wanted in except he didn’t at the same time), or he was hanging chill with his super logical Vulcan friends.

For a moment, Jim wondered what it was like to hang out with Vulcans. Maybe they just stood around a stone table and stared impassively into each other's faces until someone blinked, and then they analyzed each other to the point of oblivion. He'd have to ask Spock about that later, but for now, Jim was bored.

Staying indoors all day wasn’t Jim’s thing, though it was easy to do when he had a valid reason on the other end. With no reason to stay at home and Sam gone to wherever he was in Dreamland, Jim wanted out.

For breakfast he replicated a bowl of cereal and downed it with milk (Sam, the heathen, ate it dry) as he mulled around his options. There was always the comm, but after the one in about several million chance of getting another Vulcan or alien on the line, Jim didn't think he wanted to go through with it, especially not since he already had Spock. He didn't feel like taking anything apart today either.

Jim ended up going for a bike ride down to the riverside, but there wasn’t anyone there to goof around with. Any creatures that usually were bouncing around by now were still either asleep or in hiding. They'd probably learned too well through so many generations of kids wandering down there to have a good time in Animal Torture 101, but Jim figured it was mostly because the sun wasn't out yet that really was slowing them down.

The cornfields seemed like a good idea, even if almost all of them were less family fields and more corporate ones, less maintained by people, and nowadays really just having a programmed system to plant, grow, water and harvest the corn. Jim had heard of some newer systems coming up with just genetically cloned corn too, but he'd never paid too much attention to that. What mattered wasn't that George Kirk had owned some land too, or after he’d died, Sam said that the Motherlord had ended up selling it. What mattered was that when Jim had been younger, the two of them had played tag and Sam, being clearly a lot taller, always got smacked in the face by the stalk leaves.

It was roughly a half-an-hour trip there. Jim spent most of the time wondering what he'd do when he got back home.

He arrived in a fenced in area which probably had another name asides from 'the cornfields', but it wasn't that relevant asides from what it stood for symbolically. It was the fact that it belonged to the Jim's dad that mattered, just as much as reputation and memories seemed to that made Jim think his mom kept it instead of selling it like she had almost everything else that used to belong to his dad. He'd never really seen any holo-vids of his old man in here, so maybe George hadn't built his career around farming and the like. Then again, nobody had ever had the guts to answer, and if Sam wasn't telling, nobody else was going to answer.

He scaled the fence only after he went and opened up the system lock at the side. There was something about exercise and just— _fences._ Who didn’t want to climb them?

The bike he left folded up. It was pretty old, and hardly anyone came this far, what with most agriculture jobs transferring to machine-only labour and the annual checkups being literally only once a year, so he didn’t have to worry about anyone jacking it.

Leaping down on the other side of the fence, he landed in a crouch and wandered through. His mom had put the whole field through a controlled stasis, but if anything, it was just a glorified hologram. Jim considered turning it off and decided not to. Instead, he passed through the corn stalks and got hit in the face with leaves.

Sometimes, Jim thought, it was nice to visit old memories again.

Then he stopped, because, _dude._ Forget crop circles.

There was a fucking _spaceship_ in the cornfield _._

\--

“Hi, I’m Jim Kirk,” Jim said, trying not to be a dick, but being way too excited because _holy crap._ There was fucking _spaceship_ and aliens actually did exist (sorry Spock, but nothing beat meeting an alien in real life)! “What’s wrong with your ears?”

Jim had been expecting many things. He’d been expecting, “I come in peace”, or maybe “E.T. go home”, or something, even if this was the most unusual alien he’d ever seen. The alien was an old man Jim could have pegged for your average old man, with exception of the weirdly out of fashion robes, the lack of cane, super slanted eyebrows (but then again, maybe it was a statement), and the fact that his ears were pointy. Jim had expected him to be named some exuberant name that would involve a lot of clicks and hoots. Jim had been expecting him not to understand a lick of English, or at least, he’d expecting that he’d speak to Jim in the strange freaky tongue of The Aliens.

“I’m Spock,” was not what Jim had been expecting.

“Bullshit.” The alien raised both his eyebrows in a way that made Jim feel like maybe this conversation had happened a long time ago, only that didn’t make sense, because he was pretty sure he’d know. Instead, he met that gaze head-on. “I know Spock, and he’s definitely not you.” After a moment’s hesitation, he added, “And no offense, but you’re way too old.”

Tact, thy name was not Jim. Anyway, Spock was Jim’s age. Jim had asked a while back, because if it turned out he’d been comming someone Sam’s age, he’d have wanted to prepare for the eventual teenager syndrome that afflicted all of that age. He'd never thought he'd be so well prepared to spot a Spock imposter, but apparently Jim was on a roll.

“I appear to have stumbled into an alternate universe,” Not-Spock mused, but he didn’t sound surprised at all.

“Alternate universe?” Jim echoed, because hey, that was suddenly lot more interesting than mistaken identity.

“Are you not Jim Kirk?”

“No, I am,” Jim said, though he was kind of confused.

“I am Spock.”

“No, you’re not,” Jim said, but he did draw closer. “Wait, no. You actually—is your name actually Spock?” Wait, what was Jim doing? Spock was probably a really common name or something. Never mind the fact that before Spock had told him, Jim had never heard of it. “Do you happen to live on Vulcan? Is that your Vulcan ship? Can I see it? Can I go in?”

Not-Spock-Maybe-Spock raised a single eyebrow in a silent question.

“Oh, uh. I have a pen pal,” Jim said. “Named Spock.” A beat. “Can I start over? I don’t even know what I said.”

“Of course,” said Not-Spock-Maybe-Spock.

Jim swallowed.

“So your name’s Spock, right?”

“That would be correct,” Spock said.

“You’re from an alternate universe?”

“Yes.”

Jim gave him a look. He studied the lines of Spock's face, and the expression in his eyes. Everything felt oddly familiar, for some strange reason, even if Jim had never met anyone looking like this in his life. If he had, Jim was pretty sure the name wouldn't be Spock. “Have we met?” he asked, at last.

Spock the Not-Spock looked slightly surprised, even if he just looked the same as always. Jim just felt it; maybe Spock the Not-Spock had taken in a breath of air wrong, or maybe Jim was reading too much into it.

Wow, paranoia.

“I would assume we have.”

 “Wait, are you—Spock? Like from the future?” Jim did a weird gesture which involved two fingers and makeshift scissor snipping noises. “Wouldn’t that implode the universe since you’re not supposed to exist on the same plane or something?” Movies were Jim’s greatest resources, after all. “Or at least, you replace him or he replaces you?”

“I am not the Spock you know,” he said. “Any projected complications would therefore be mostly irrelevant.”

“Oh, okay,” Jim said. “That’s a relief, but I don’t get it. Who are you? You're not Spock—I mean, the Spock I know, right?”

“I am Spock, regardless.”

“That’s…helpful?” Jim managed. “How many of you are there? Are you guys clones or something? Like, little bro, medium bro, big bro? Should I ask Spock?” Somehow, Jim got a feeling the answer was no. “Okay, so you’re Spock, gotcha, hmm,” Jim said, nodding wisely and folding his arms. “And I can’t tell other Spock about you, but I can talk to you about other Spock, which means so long as neither of you guys are aware of each other at the same time, the universe is safe. Sure, that’s logical.”

Not. Really.

“Perhaps we should begin again,” Spock offered.

“Yeah, a redo would be awesome.” Jim closed his eyes, then opened them again. “Okay, so now you’re standing there and I’ve seen you for the first time, and now I’m going to gape really wide and look at you funny.”

If Spock could smile, Jim was sure he would. Instead, the old man just inclined his head in what was probably agreement. Roll with it!

“Hi, I’m Jim Kirk! Nice to meet you,” he said enthusiastically. “I have a lot of questions to ask you and I’m going to be really obnoxious about it. Also, this is my face upon noticing your ears for the first time, and holy crap, you’re a freaky-ass alien!”

“Hello, Jim,” Spock replied, not unkindly. He seemed very inclined to look almost as though he didn't know what amused him more, Jim being himself or the fact that Jim might have been unintentionally insulting him. “It is beyond a pleasure to make your acquaintance. My name is Spock.”

“That’s cool,” Jim said nodding. “You know, I have a _pen_ pal by that name? But then he’s technically not a pen pal, because we don’t write with pens, but he’s like a comm pal, only that sounds awkward, like I put him in a microchip and shoved him into the comm.”

“Fascinating,” Spock said, and folded his hands behind his back.

“Can I ask my questions now?”

“What question should you like me to respond to first?”

“Two questions actually. One, seriously, what’s up with your ears?”

“Up?” Spock asked, looking up.

Jim made a noise that might have sounded like “literally”, but he gestured and pointed. “You have _pointy ears_. Pointy. Satanic. Your ears.” For maximum effect, he put two fingers there and wiggled them.

“They are a part of our anatomy, and are completely natural. They are also as far from being bred by implications of demonic influence as possible, I assure you,” Spock replied, and raised an eyebrow. For some reason, Jim decided to translate that, instead of _you exasperate me_ , but _you asked so of course I will answer, here you go_. “You had another question?”

“Yeah,” Jim said immediately, because you didn’t take free answers to questions without leaping on them. He still wasn’t sure how much Spock From the Future was going to give him, but if how he’d totally been willing to answer Jim’s first question was anything to go by, Jim was going to milk it for all that it was worth.

He stared up into the face of what would be an aged Spock. Spock just looked at him, not looked down, but looked at him. As though he had all the time in the world and Jim could take as long as he wanted, and Spock wouldn’t mind. In a way, Jim thought, it was a bit like other Spock, only reading this one's expression wasn't as easy as Jim would've thought it'd be.

Still. Nothing ventured, nothing gained.

“Do you guys have dicks?” Jim asked, eyes wide. “Other you never answered the question.”

\--

Spock hadn’t answered the question, not even when Jim had asked, as an afterthought, “Is it bigger than mine?” Despite this, Spock, Jim was beginning to learn, became one hell of a bad-ass in his old-age. Apparently, when you had about a hundred years plus of experience interacting with humans, even a stiff Vulcan actually knew how to recognize sarcasm. While telling Spock inappropriate jokes was like showing your grandfather your underwear (because seriously! Spock looked that old!), Jim actually didn’t mind. Because, like everything else that had had to do with Spock who had become his pen pal, Spock who had become his impromptu neighbour ( _technically)_ was just another thing on the list of Great Things That Have Happened So Far.

Asides from that, because an older Spock was an awesome Vulcan in general and felt Jim’s misery at not being able to understand what was going on or why he was even here in the first place, he sat Jim down and talked him through it. It was weird, because normally Jim didn’t even want to talk to his mom about awkward chunks of let’s-not. It didn’t feel like getting scolded by Sam either, or like his teachers who just demanded Jim pay attention. Jim couldn’t sit still and always had to move; Spock didn’t tell him off once. If anything, he'd seemed even more delighted, which. Huh. Kinda new, but Jim could definitely work with that. And get used to it.

It wasn’t that Jim thought he wasn't in over his head. Being able to participate in something he couldn’t ever tell anyone—it was _fine._ But two versions of Spock were kind of cool and creepy at the same time. He somehow managed to wrap his mind around the fact that this was happening, exactly why Spock had crash-landed on Earth (Jim only sympathized a little with Nero, what with his planet and entire family and all, but dude was crazy), and why it was that Spock couldn’t leave. Oddly enough, Spock explaining it to him made him feel like he could make more sense out of it.

“So your spaceship—sorry, starship’s totalled?” Jim asked, tapping on the sides of the armrests so he wouldn't actually push some random Vulcan ejector seat. He couldn't decide whether or not he wanted his legs dangling or to sit cross-legged. He settled for just readjusting whenever he felt uncomfortable. “In the technical, can’t go back home or reach faster than light speed? And the Red Matter stuff—wow, just a bit can make a black hole? Forgive me if I think you should be a lot more worried, because if power goes out, it’s going to suck us all up faster than we can breathe air.”

The two of them were inside The Jellyfish, at the moment, Jim in the chair because Spock had suggested it, and Spock standing around and running a small systems check with the power. The ship was voiceprint run, Spock had explained, but as that would severely drain power resources he'd turned it off.

“Unfortunately,” Spock said, though he wasn’t annoyed, just accepting of the facts as Jim saw them.

“What about the other problem? The second on the list, going back home?” Jim figured if he had a home as cool as Vulcan, he’d miss it too. Also, kahs-wan. “Other you was like, ‘I believe it may be in approximation of sixteen point three light years’, so unless Vulcan powers include teleportation and not just obscene robotic-ness-?” Jim leaned closer.

“While the outward shell of the Jellyfish is mostly undamaged, I have no means to power the warp drive,” Spock said. “Even subspace communications are severely limited.”

“‘Subspace'?” Jim echoed, eyebrows furrowing. “Never heard of it.”

“It is the concept that there are more dimensions than space-time dimensions.”

“You mean like ‘hyperspace’?”

“Yes.”

“Also, warp drive? Like, speed of light travel or something?”

“The equivalent for warp factor 1 would be 1 times the speed of light, or, 299792 kilometres per second.” Spock inclined his head. “Technology has advanced that anything unable to travel at warp speed is considered obsolete.”

“Must take a lot of fuel to power that,” Jim commented.

“Fuel is not utilized.”

“Wait, so wait,” Jim said, perplexed. “At _all?_ You don’t even use liquid _or_ solid fuel? What the hell do you power your ships up with?”

“Dilithium crystals,” Spock explained, and picking up Jim’s PADD, proceeded to draw a diagram for him. “They regulate the conversion from antimatter and matter to electromagnetic radiation.”

“So it’s like: Two lithiums?” Jim was skeptical. “I think if it was that simple, we would have discovered warp drive a long time ago and exchanged high-fives with you all.”

“They are rare in this time period,” Spock replied. “At any rate, the most pressing concern is achieving enough power to last.”

Power?

 “A reactor,” Jim said immediately. “I could build you one. Nuclear fusion and the shit. There’s this guy who did it—he posted it online. This whole tutorial. It be easy. I’m good at following instructions.” Okay, so the last part was a lie because Jim just flew by everything by the seat of his pants, but he had reasonable belief to be sure that he could figure it out. “I can probably get fissionable material somewhere.”

Spock raised an eyebrow. “Would it not be against your laws to allocate such materials in a non-regulation laboratory?”

“Laboratory? Why would I have a laboratory?”

They stared at each other for a few minutes.

“So about them dilithium crystals,” Jim prompted, trying to fill in the awkward moment.

“Obtaining dilithium crystals in this era would be exceedingly difficult. I would have no choice but to recrystallize what I have left.”

“Recrystallize? That’s useful. You won’t ever run out.” Jim peered and managed out the words ‘warp core’ on one part of the layouts. According to Spock, it was written in Standard, but other than that, Jim didn't know much else. “What do you have to do?”

“I would have to place it under gamma radiation for it to do so,” Spock said. “However, both repair-work on the ship itself and stemming the power leakage take a certain priority.”

Jim watched in fascination as Spock showed him the ship layout again.

“Hey,” Jim said suddenly, leaning in. “You have torpedo launchers?”

Spock’s eyes warmed. “Indeed. Would you like me to show you?”

“Yes!” Jim replied, enthused, scrambling out of that really actually comfortable chair. Odd, considering that Vulcans were logical. Wouldn't comfy cushioning make people lazy instead of more efficient?

Since the Jellyfish was small, the torpedo bay was somewhat built into the ship deck and was easily accessible. You could access the controls from where Jim had been seated, but ultimately, you could also fire by voice command. Spock showed him how it would blink before it confirmed if you were going for a manual override, and he answered Jim’s questions about the torpedo launchers with great patience—yes, any high-energy particle would do as well, and no, they were not heat-seeking missiles that followed you all over until you died.

“Spring break’s coming soon,” Jim said, before he could stop himself, when he pulled back. “I could help you out in the mornings, if that’s okay. Anything you want, you can ask me. No one’s going to ask if I order stuff that you need, and I can hide my trail, easy.”

“That would be acceptable,” Spock said, as though he wasn’t supporting Jim’s sudden decision to enter a life of crime, though Jim had the feeling Spock knew a lot more than he was letting on. “Thank you, Jim.”

“You’re welcome,” Jim said, feeling strangely embarrassed. “So, about fixing up the Jellyfish.”

To Jim’s surprise, not only was Spock completely on board for any suggestions Jim had about fixing things up—never mind the fact Jim wasn’t space-qualified or warp-qualified to know much, and also happened to be an _extremely_ volatile and easily excited human being—he was unexpectedly a lot easier to get along with in the long run planning aspect kind of things. Spock could adapt and take apart the technology in this era to fix up what would be needed, and Jim could do his part and mod them a bit at home. Both of them would work on repairing the ship, and if Jim wanted to (“Duh,” Jim said, and Spock did that thing where his eyes warmed, making Jim feel like he'd saved a puppy from certain death or something, a general good person deed), he could help out on some of the calculations, never mind the fact that a lot of them would be different in the 24th century and either become void or become improved on.

It seemed strange that Spock, being from the future, knew exactly what he needed from this time period.  Then again, Spock _had_ been born at here—this was just an older Spock—but it felt weird either way, because Spock had never been born on Earth. He didn't ask about it, though. The answer just seemed to be, “It’s _Spock_ ” in his head. And that was okay.

“You know,” he said, as an afterthought, “You're really not like other you.”

Spock inclined his head in what Jim thought might have been either confusion or encouragement to continue.

“You're...” Jim's eyebrows furrowed. “More open? Somehow?”

Jim didn't know how it happened, but then they started talking about other Spock a bit more than he'd expected to. True, he'd been the one to bring it up in the first place, but he was sure the only reason it'd continued on as much as it did was because the old man had somehow managed to get Jim blathering. Blathering usually wasn't hard. Jim had lots to say about everything. However, most of the time, Jim actually did it on purpose, sometimes to get a boring class to pass by quickly. He'd forgotten how fun it was to be excited when someone could just read you and know exactly what you wanted out of them.

“It's not cheating, right?” Jim asked anxiously, after he somehow in one breath managed to tell Spock a play-by-play account of the time he and Spock had talked about the solar system and ended up arguing about exactly how many planets there were. Spock, to his credit, had looked like this all was the most fascinating ever, in rapt (and, Jim felt, perfect) attention, lifting his eyebrows and asking questions in all the right places. “If I spend time with you and then I spend time with other you? I mean, I'm not going to tell him, but I just kind of feel bad.”

“It is all and well, old friend,” Spock reassured. “No matter what world or circumstance, your company is greatly preferred. In fact, I would go further to say it is remarkably flattering you would choose to spend any time with this old man at all.”

All Jim concluded was that Spock endorsed that it was less cheating and more brand loyalty. Good to know.

“Cool.” Jim beamed.

They talked a bit more about things that Jim had talked with Spock, only for Jim to realize that not only did Spock here give similar replies, but this Spock actually did explain to Jim why it was that there were certain topics that other Spock wouldn't touch, and what topics Jim should never touch, ever. Well, he didn't actually _say_ , but Jim got the feeling older Spock was both apologizing for his younger, inexperienced, and not-even-half-as-bad-ass self, as well as offering Jim several things to keep in mind, so he just took it into stride. If he'd been annoyed by younger Spock before, well, he wasn't so much now.

One great thing about having the future self of your alien pen pal hang with you was that he’d had time to get used to the future you in his timeline. Ultimately, that meant asking as many things that popped into Jim’s mind at random as he could. While Spock didn’t seem to mind the flow of never-ending questions or answering them, there were still some topics that were off-limits. The actual events in Jim’s future was a no-go, but if Jim wanted to know anything about the 21st or 20th century, Spock was his Vulcan.

“Did future me meet you the same way as right-now me did?” Jim asked.

The answer was no, but Spock refused to tell him anymore.

“Oh come on, you can tell me this, can't you? Seriously. Maybe there's a life-threatening thing happening?” Jim tried to look all un-harming to the future and breaking the space-time continuum. “Please? C'mon, Spock.”

Spock raised an eyebrow.

“Perhaps it would be best for you to depart,” he said.

“What?” Jim was floored. “Are you kicking me out? Is begging for something equivalent to me saying fuck you in Vulcan?”

Spock's eyes seemed to smile. “Do you have your communicator?”

“My communicator?” Jim asked, “What, you have a code? Aliens with communicators, wonders will never cease.”

Spock did that thing again where his eyes smiled. “You underestimate an old man, Jim.” When he handed it back, he asked, “What is your opinion on it now?”

When Jim tried out the code, it opened a line right to a display screen that had just appeared in front of the chair. Jim saw his own face there, and it was pretty handsome, if he had to say so himself. Looking at the communicator screen, he saw him and Spock.

“That’s amazing!” Jim exclaimed, grinning from ear to ear. “Okay, I’ll comm you before I come over tomorrow. I’ll see you then, right?”

“It would be my pleasure,” Spock replied.

Standing at the transporter, Jim couldn't get rid of the feeling that this was kind of a lonely goodbye, even if it was temporary. He'd never had a grandfather, but he couldn't shake the feeling that despite their usual grouchiness, maybe old people sometimes were mean so that you wouldn't miss them once they were gone. Spock was nice, and Jim couldn't help but think that whoever Jim was in his universe, he must've really meant a lot to the old man if Spock could tolerate Jim even now as a kid.

“I'll come at 0700,” He promised. “I mean, if you don't mind. As soon as I wake up. Promise.”

Spock inclined his head, and Jim felt like he'd just made someone's century.

_–_

The instant Jim got back home, he dumped his bike in the garage after a quick wipe down, and scrambled to the comm.

 _ALIEN BOOTY ORGY PARTIES,_ he sent cheerily.

 _Greetings, Jim,_ Spock replied near instantaneously. _I see you have begun expanding your vocabulary._

 _It's called the language of the thoroughly amazing, you dickhead,_ Jim responded. _Try not to be jealous and don't forget to watch the BURNNNN._

 _The opening leaves little to be desired,_ Spock said dryly. _As do your pitiful attempts to seem marginally intelligent._

_> >>You're insulting my intelligence? You? Spock, I never knew you thought so much about me._

_< <<I think little of it._

_> >>What happened to the time when you couldn't tell the difference between a joke and an insult?_

_< <<Unlike yourself, I am considered an intelligent species. _

_> >>Another way for saying “I am a total alien space nerd and you can kiss my ass”? Nice._

_< <<Vulcans are not nerds._

_> >>Do you even know what they are?_

_< <<I can presume already from the connotation you associate with all Terran slang to be applied towards me._

_> >>How are you, you fascinating, eccentric alien you? I forgive you even if you're kind of a jerk and I probably should dump you and then go run off with the next offering Vulcan._

_< <<Your responses seem remarkably enthused tonight._

_> >>Something great happened! But I can’t tell you. Total secret._

_< <<I see._

_> >>Don’t worry, you’re still my number one. Sort of. You've got a competitor._

_< <<I believe the correct response in this situation should be: How flattering._

_> >>I'm going to ignore that supposed sarcasm because I am merciful and all-loving, and everything the light touches is my kingdom._

_< <<Perhaps it would be more beneficial if I were to point out all the reasons for your self-delusion?_

_> >>You can't tell me what to do. I'm a special corn stalk._

_< <<Indeed. Should I ever come across a most pressing issue, I shall take means to refer back to your assuredly more seasoned advice and desist from my own disposition._

_> >>That's the spirit!_

_< <<Again, I am unfamiliar with your use of Terran slang._

_> >>Okay, let me try to speak like you: My name is Spock and I'm super super smart and everybody needs to bow down to me. Bitch please._

_< <<That is a crude if not drastically inaccurate impersonation. It is also as far from reminiscent of my speech patterns as possible._

_> >>What are you talking about? It's a perfect impression. Blah blah blah Vulcans do not anything blah we are logic itself blah._

_< <<Jim._

_> >>Spock._

_< <<My name is Jim. I display a crude perversion towards profanity and other vulgar topics, and deterge my mouth constantly by ingesting waste of the mammalian sort._

_> >>Oh my god_

_> >>Did you just basically say I clean my mouth by eating shit_

_> >>Did you just go there_

_> >>Did you_

_> >>DID YOU_

_< <<Indeed, Jim. I have gone there. It is an exceedingly filthy place._

>>> _I hate you. So much. My hate revolves around the universe and encompasses you in a lot of elbows to your side and not giving you personal space._

_< <<As illogical as it seems, I believe the sentiment to be mutual, and I am afraid I must depart._

_> >>Sleep well, you asshole._

_< <<Goodnight, Jim._

_–_

It was apparently against the Vulcan code of Vulcans to look like you knew what “too early in the morning for this” meant, as Jim found out. The old man picked up the comm as soon as Jim sent it, and even then had enough energy to start the conversation about whether or not Jim had eaten breakfast, to his dismay. He'd run circles around him in discussion before Jim had admitted that getting at least something in his stomach was a good idea, and ended up eating not only a fully breakfast, but packing his lunch neatly in a bag too.

In all honesty, Jim would’ve pegged an older Spock for one of those guys who yelled at everyone who ran over their lawns and threw canes at people. Okay, actually no, but that’d honestly been the first thing Jim had thought when Spock said he was Spock, just not the same Spock Jim knew because, hello, from the future, do you not see these fucking awesome age lines of experience and valour?

In any case, an entire century’s worth of age jumping for Spock made him the most amazing person—Vulcan, whatever—that Jim had ever met. Jim had thought it then, he still thought it now.

“I care for you very deeply,” Jim declared, when Spock not only showed him how to install some of the parts, but fully supported his vigilant, pre-delinquent and illegal subsequent schemes and activities for obtaining materials by showing him how to frequency-hop more efficiently. And the best part of it all was that Spock didn’t seem squicked at all by the sudden emotion that Jim was channeling. “Can you just stay here forever and teach me how to be as bad-ass as you are?”

“I would have no doubt that would be counter-productive,” Spock said, sounding greatly amused. “As much as I have no doubt it is rather difficult to be ‘bad-ass’.”

“Yeah, well. Your face is counter-productive,” Jim said shortly, and peered in, but he couldn’t help but feel really pleased at hearing Spock say something so un-Spock like. It was like teaching a nun to swear, only a lot more rewarding in itself. He finished installing what was an external hard disk that Spock had taken apart right in front of him and remade with various other parts. “Are you sure I'm doing this right?”

Asides from the homemade rocket he and Sam had tried to make on their own when the two of them had been both a lot younger and a lot less well-versed in safety (which, for the most part, was a joke), Jim really didn’t have much experience working with anything that required being able to fly to be interesting. Sure, his paper airplanes were something of a legend even to himself (he’d learned a lot on aerodynamics by designing one that would go further than his mom’s, and then the entire driveway had been covered in paper airplanes for the weekend), but Jim hadn’t touched anything that wasn’t an engine or a comm—something from Earth, basically. Even with Spock guiding him and teaching him as they went so Jim didn’t feel like a complete idiot, at times, he had the nagging fear that he might accidentally blow them both up.

Which, would be cool. But definitely short-lived.

Geebus. Jim’s mom would be ashamed of him if she knew how much trouble he was having with everything. She'd disown him and shove him into the nearest senior home so that he could get his cheeks pulled and have older people he knew calling him “Jimmy-boo” for the rest of his mortified life.

“You are adapting quite nicely,” Spock assured him.

“Lies,” Jim said. “Tell me the truth. I won't cry all over the upholstery, I promise.”

“The truth?” Spock raised an eyebrow. “I believe you would have a delightful future in Engineering should you choose to pursue the field.”

Jim flushed. “Wow, uh. Okay. Thanks? I guess?” He cleared his throat and took in a breath of air. “So what else do we have to do?”

“The warp nacelles will need repair. The manual specs I will input into your PADD so that you may work at home, should you wish.” Spock nodded to where he’d just carefully cut through, bipolar torch in hand. “The rest I will have suitably functional before you arrive tomorrow, and I will download the rest there.”

“Just the outer, or-? What kind of metal is this anyway?” Jim asked, rapping his knuckles on the outside of the Jellyfish.

Spock just did his smile-thing.

“Okay, gotcha, not allowed to know too much,” Jim grouched. “I’d get tempted.” He mock-beheaded himself with his thumb.

“You would be admirably more productive than most if you were to learn,” Spock soothed, and in a way, that felt like a compliment and made Jim feel better at the same time. “However, it may change certain factors in this timeline, and I am uncertain would end well.”

“But I’m already here, helping you out,” Jim pointed out, because he liked doing it for the sake of doing it. “Aren’t you already changing it?”

“You have already changed the life of my younger self, by contacting him, but the consequences are, at the moment, restricted to your family.” Spock said. “However, I do not doubt that your influence on him is for the best.”

“Last night he told me I cleaned my mouth by eating shit,” Jim said, because the fact that Spock had just tried to sass him last night needed to be shared.

Spock looked mildly amused, though his eyebrows did shoot up first in surprise. “I profess a fondness for your company.” _It's the same for him_ was strongly implied. “It may be well that it is you possess an engaging personality, Jim.”

Spock was giving these compliments like they were supposed to be thanking Jim for something he didn’t even do yet, or would never do, because he wasn’t this Spock’s Jim. It made Jim feel weirdly like he was floating on air and wrapped under the world’s best blanket. And awesome.

“What about the warp engine?” Jim asked, failing miserably at _not_ having a stupid grin on his face. “It’s kind of wonky. You said so.”

“Ah, yes, that.” Spock looked thoughtful. “If you could procure for me a suitable engine from which to take key parts out of, I would be most obliged.”

“Any kind?”

“One not known for breaking down easily would be sufficient.”

“No problem,” Jim said, snorting. “My mom’s an engineer. She’s always shopping for engines. I can ask, next time she comms.”

Spock inclined his head in thanks.

Holographic screens popped up at several intervals, containing readings or blueprints of all sorts. Jim couldn't figure out how it was anyone could have the attention span to pay attention to so many screens, especially with some in the background like that, but Spock was meticulous. It was like this really cool video game.

“So what are you working on right now?” Jim asked, leaning against the console. He jumped when a sudden barrage of screens popped out at him, but Spock merely leaned over and closed them all with the flick of a wrist. “Sorry.”

“I am re-inputting several of the warp equations that will be necessary once repairs are complete.”

Jim inched closer, peering at the symbols and numbers that started filling the screen, going by at speeds he had a hard time following. “What's it do? Why would you need a warp equation? I thought the dilithium crystals regulated the conversion you needed to reach warp?”

“Warp equations allow for the manipulation and calculation of the warp fields and the subspace bubble patterns around the ship itself during warp.”

“Figures. So it's not just the material you use to build your ships,” Jim noted. “Hey, what're warp fields and subspace bubbles?”

Spock brought up the diagram. “A warp field is generated by the field coils found in the narcelles,” he explained. “It distorts the space around the ship, allowing it to achieve velocities past the speed of light.  Subspace bubbles, on the other hand, allow the ship to be protected.”

“So they're like really huge force fields?” Jim asked, excited.

“Similar,” Spock acquiesced. “But not quite.”

“It's _technically_ a force field, though,” Jim tried, even though it wasn't him who was the expert on 24th century starships. “By definition. If it's a force-fields-keep harmful-anything-that's-not-you-out kind of definition.”

“Affirmative,” was Spock's amused reply.

If Jim thought he liked how Spock answered him without thinking that Jim may have been this really annoying kid, he was surprised by how he liked the silences just as much. It was never a cold-shoulder kind of silence like other Spock's; more or less Spock was concentrating on something and Jim didn't mind _not_ being the centre of attention for once. It strangely made him very happy just to watch someone clearly good at their job do it.

“I don't want to have to go back to school,” Jim admitted, when it was time to go. “Because that means I'd either have to visit only you or only talk to other Spock. I kind of want to do both.” A sudden thought struck him. “You won't suddenly fix your starship overnight and leave in the morning, will you?”

“I will be here,” Spock replied. “My farewells to you will be the penultimate thing I will do before I depart Earth.”

Jim let out a breath of relief. “Wait. What's the last, then?”

“Why,” Spock folded his hands behind his back, “'kicking you off the ship', so to speak.”

Future Spock was not only a bad-ass. Future Spock was also a _dick._

“I'm going to prank-comm you in the middle of the night,” Jim declared.

“I would welcome it.”

“Really?” Jim asked. “Even 0400 comms where I ask if your refrigerator is running and you say yes, and then I say you'd better catch it?”

“I will be here,” Spock promised.

Jim paused. “You sure?”

“If any problems arise, you have my code.”

“That a come on, Mister Spock?” Jim grinned.

In response, Spock raised an eyebrow as if to say, _Is that what we're calling it now?_

Case in point, one of the best Sundays ever.

–

Amidst counting down the weeks until Spring Break, Jim found that he actually liked looking forward to something. Excitement at crossing off another day on his PADD had nothing in common with being excited over finishing an experiment he'd decided to try himself. Making through another day of _school_ and being able to look forward to bitch-talking with present Spock over the comm or being able to discuss the repairwork on the starship and topics in general on his communicator with future Spock? Jim couldn't even remember the last time he'd felt as though nothing else mattered. The weekends now were precious days when Jim would help future Spock install something or watch it happen because there was more time, and nights when present Spock was willing to dish some attitude.

He barely noticed Sam now, what with all that was going on. Some people would call it sad, or maybe shake their heads and talk all about how the new generation was becoming more self-obsessed. Jim didn't think it had anything to do with it. Now that he had something to immerse himself in, he understood why it was that Sam had decided that being a friend was better than being a brother, even if it didn't make him feel any better about the way that Sam had royally ditched him. There was just something different when it came to having someone who wasn't obligated to spend time with you or hang out with you. They were just different from family. Not to say family wasn't important, but Jim was pretty sure in a contest, Sam wouldn't hesitate to pick up a comm from his friends first either.

On the more positive note, Jim learned a lot about both Spocks as well than he'd come to realize he would.

Asides from being a totally Sassy Intelligent Alien, younger Spock turned out to be the best being to try to troll ever. It didn't matter what Jim said to him. Anything condescending, anything remotely insulting, Spock whipped back with as much vocabulary word-vomit finesse as possible. It didn't mean that there weren't untouchable topics, but Jim could get away with things that he was pretty sure was only possible when both of you were entirely different species and one of them wasn't afraid to open with completely inappropriate or just-for-the-kicks openings.

Of course, they weren't always perfect.

_> >>I'LL BE BACH._

<<< _You misspelled and incorrectly capitalized 'back'._

_> >>It's a joke._

_< <<Then it is a terrible one. I have not yet felt offense._

“I think I've ruined jokes for younger you,” Jim told future Spock later.

“An admirable feat,” Spock agreed.

Older Spock was not only the biggest bad-ass to ever grace American soil since a 20th century-born Chuck Norris, but who also somehow doubled as a relationship consultant. Or a therapist. Or that friend who was older than you in a century kind of way who already _had_ been through everything, and could give you hints on what to do for any projects and completely tolerated you on a level that only time (or an wormhole leading from an alternate universe) could give. Jim thought that was kind of cool. Plus, while he wouldn't go as far as to insult the old man, Jim thought it was a fair trade in exchange for someone who could pay Jim more attention than he'd ever thought possible.

“C'mon,” Jim said. “Tell me how I became a bad-ass like you.”

“You did not,” Spock said.

“But _you're_ a bad-ass!” Jim protested.

Spock folded his hands behind his back, adopting a wide-eyed expression. “I am physically incapable of becoming a horrible example of a backside,” he said innocently.

Jim laughed.

Everything got so good that by the time Spring Break rolled around, Jim didn't think it could get any better.

–

>>> _Tiberius._

_< <<Pardon?_

_> >>That's my middle name._

_< <<I see._

_> >>Don't you want to ask?_

_< <<Indeed. I am fairly curious as to the reasoning behind simply stating it._

_> >>I wanted to know your last name, but then I realized that in order to do so, I'd have to have a sort of exchange with you, you know?_

_> >>Also, you kind of went all ASL on me when we started talking about the meaning of my name, only in this case, history, culture, shaddawadaboo on me._

_< <<I am unfamiliar with both that acronym and that word._

_> >>Age, Sex, Language. Shaddawadaboo: made up by Jim Kirk. Used like etc._

_> >>So anyway, spill. Last name?_

_< <<There is no reason for you to know. Similar to how the date of my birth is inconsequential._

_> >>You did not just say birthdays aren't worth it._

_< <<I have said it countless times over our ever pleasant chats, but the relevance you hold to a specific date never ceases to confuse me._

_> >>Birthdays aren't the same as names. They're specialER._

_< <<Both are of little import save for information profiles._

“It's just a _last name_ ,” Jim said. “What's up with you?”

>>> _Then if it's of little import, just tell me._

_< <<Humans are incapable of pronouncing it._

_> >>Uh-huh. And you've met a human other than me when?_

Spock wasn't answering. That happened when he didn't want to answer, or Jim said something wrong. Either way, Jim was pretty sure that for Spock to have said humans were incapable of pronouncing his name, he'd have to have met one before.

>>> _Just let me pronounce it. It's not like you have a secret name or we're living in a society where names have powers and suddenly I can brainwash you._

_> >>You have a secret name, don't you._

_> >>Your silence confirms it._

_> >>TELL ME._

_< <<No._

_> >>I'm serious, Spock._

_< <<As am I. You are incapable of pronouncing it._

_> >>Not buying it. Let me give it a try._

_> >>C'mon. It'll be like an edifying experience._

_> >>Kind of._

_> >>Hey._

_> >>Spock?_

“Dick,” Jim scowled, when Spock didn't respond.

–

“What's up with this?” Jim asked, upper body under the hull of the starship as he replaced the outside panel. According to Spock, this probably easily could have been fixed in a dock that had yet to exist in the solar system, but hey, small mercies for being small. Though if Jim still had the choice, he'd be taller than Sam. “The ‘don’t call us, we’ll call you’ thing? What are you doing, auditions for Next Top Planet?”

“Pardon?”

“The Prime Directive?”

“It is active in this world?” Spock asked, sounding surprised.

“It's not supposed to?” Jim asked.

“It is the guiding principle of the United Federation of Planets, however, being a Starfleet regulation, it  binds only to Starfleet officers to its employ. Federation citizens are exempt from it.”

“Sort of like a get all the benefits, I'm-not-in-the-military-you-can't-tell-me-what-to-do-so-screw-you? Other you sounded like he'd just blown up planet Earth rather than just comm'd me back, like it was the absolute law or something. ”

“On the contrary,” Spock said mildly. “There is not always a definite answer in response to a situation. Logic is a study of the modes of reasoning and the utilization of such reasoning. However, often the Vulcan discipline of logic follows the train of thought that is best for many is far more beneficial than what is best for few.

Jim paused. “I don't know much, but I'm _pretty_ sure you telling me all this is like admitting that sometimes you might be wrong.”

“I have said no such thing,” Spock said mildly, before pausing. “James?”

“Jim,” Jim corrected, poking his head out from underneath the starship and crawling out on his elbows, jimmying on over. “I’m Jim. Three letters.”

“Ah, yes.” Spock caught himself. “My apologies.”

“It's okay.” Jim nodded. “It’s just I like it better and—oh yeah, speaking of names,” Jim said, after a thought. “Younger you and I were talking about names? Also he's a dick, but this time dick by the power of dick in the terms of dickiness. He wanted to know about the history, culture, whatever thing of mine—there's a word for it but I forget—and then I told him my middle name and then we talked about his last name, and then he said something about having a name that I couldn’t pronounce. That’s a lie, right? I can pronounce Spock just fine.”

“I would assume you pressured him,” Spock said, not accusingly, just amused.

“Yeah,” Jim said, tone defensive. “What of it?” He slumped, shoulders dejected. “It didn't even work when I tried to keep going.”

Spock inputted something into his PADD and gave it to him.

“What is this?” Jim squinted. “Ex…tuh-mmp—what, you can’t—how do you even read this? What is this?”

“Our name,” Spock replied.

Jim stared at it, mouth making sounds but saying nothing. “Spock,” he said at last. “I’m going to totally learn how to pronounce your real name.”

“I have no doubt at all that you will,” Spock replied, and he sounded like he believed in it one hundred percent.

“I will. I won’t even ask you. Other you. And you. The both of you. I’ll do it on my own.”

Spock inclined his head in acknowledgment, but Jim had a feeling he was only being humoured.

\--

>>> _I’m totally going to know how to pronounce your name._

_< <<We have been through this, Jim. Humans are incapable of the pronunciation._

_> >>I know my tongue better than you do, thank you very much, but I appreciate the interest all the same._

<<< _Jim._

_> >>Spock._

_< <<Am I correct in assuming you will speak nothing but this for the rest of the night should I choose to ignore you?_

_> >>I’m going to be obnoxious, yeah._

_> >>And whine a lot._

_> >>Multiple transmissions._

_> >>Your call._

_< <<Very well. I suppose I have no choice but to look forward to your attempts at butchering both my language and my given name._

_> >>That’s **right**._

_< <<Your astoundingly singular and far from contrite ability to make a spectacle of yourself never ceases to amaze me._

_> >>My “astoundingly singular and far from contrite ability to make a spectacle of myself”? Really?_

_< <<A more accurate assessment of your personality would not be feasible with my limited resources._

_> >>In other words, “Jim has beaten me and I'm too much of a PANSY-ASS to admit it.”_

_< <<Jim._

_> >>Oh yeah, sorry. Got off track._

_> >>So, yeah, definitely. Earth’s awesome if you want to stop by anytime soon. I can give you the grand tour and everything. Road trip, the All American Dream, the works._

_< <<I believe I was promised Terminator and Mary Poppins._

_> >>You believe right. We’ll do that too, first thing._

_> >>Also, can’t believe you still remember that._

_> >>Spock, you’re such a dork._

_> >>DORK._

_> >>Capital D._

_> >>Admiral Dork._

_< <<Vulcans are not dorks._

_> >>Bring it on, Admiral Dork. Let’s see whatcha got._

_\--_

For the record, Jim totally did learn how to pronounce Spock's name.

Really.

–

>>> _Argh._

_< <<Argh?_

_> >>Sam's being bitchy again about the comm. Also, I double doggy dare you to go outside and scream that into the streets._

_< <<I hardly believe there would be a purpose in destroying Sam's character by hearsay._

_> >>No, I meant, shout Argh._

_< <<Did your brother not inform you two minutes ago that you were to relinquish the comm to him?_

_Details,_ Jim waved him off dismissively. _I just didn’t listen or pay attention. Selective hearing._

 _You seem to have a serendipity for being convinced of your own brilliant ideas,_ Spock mentioned dryly.

 _It's okay,_ Jim reassured. _I have a serendipity for making people see things my way. It's a gift._

 _Perhaps,_ Spock continued, _if I were to attempt the vernacular that you so readily employ, I would go even further to say: Sucks to be you, homie._

 _Oh my god,_ Jim sent, laughing hard. _You must be so proud._

_< <<Indeed, I am in ecstasy over this accomplishment._

>>> _You, Spock, are an excellent Vulcan. Keep it up. Forever. Please._

_< <<It is curious that you would be in such a excited state over such a general mastery._

_> >>Aww, c'mon, Spock, you can't tell me you aren't learning anything!_

_< <<I am learning that your language has a tendency to be very uncouth, as well as a penchant for irrelevant and seemingly pointless expletives._

_> >>Well shit. So we do._

_< <<Perhaps you should extend such an epiphany towards other topics as well._

_> >>Asking about dicks isn't pointless. It's scientifically valid, I **told** you!_

_< <<Jim._

_> >>Alright, I get it! Fine. Just answer one more question and I promise I'll leave you alone._

_< <<Suddenly I am overwhelmingly wary of your definition of leaving someone alone._

_> >>How do you guys have sex?_

_< <<No._

_> >>No, you don't have sex? Or no, you're not gonna spill?_

_< <<This is highly vulgar._

_> >>I'll figure it out sooner or later, y'know._

_< <<I doubt you will._

_> >>How about we start from the beginning? How do you guys start dating? Holding hands and everything?_

_< <<I will not be holding your hand._

_> >>It's okay, Spock. I know how much you'd like to hold my hand._

_> >>We'll hold it ALL NIGHT LONG._

_< <<Jim. Stop it._

_> >>What, uncomfortable?_

_< <<Yes. Please desist this method of trying to rile me. It is unpleasant and I am not particularly as tolerant to this as I am to your other attempts._

_> >>Oh._

_> >>Uh._

_> >>Sorry, then._

Spock didn't answer him. Well fine.

Jim didn't want to ask him about the details anyway. Who wanted to know about how Vulcans did it dirty, anyway?

–

“So how do you guys have sex?” Jim demanded.

Spock, in surprise, ended up sounding like he was choking on something he hadn’t expected to wind up in his throat.

“We are a very private species,” Spock said at last, once recovered, and then it was like he hadn’t just been caught off guard. “Though I will admit I did not expect you to be so well-informed at this age.”

“Oh, I’m well-informed, alright,” Jim grinned. “You guys don’t like talking about sex?”

It was a rhetoric question. He knew the answer to this. Every time Jim spoke to pen pal Spock, every time he pretty much tried to make the conversation run on some kind of stream that kids his age would have no problem following, it was awkward.

And, okay, so maybe that _wasn’t_ the most intelligent way to reply when you discovered that you’d just blatantly hit on a species that was repressed as fuck. Then again, Spock didn’t look disgusted, but strangely flattered in an oh-I-just-got-a-compliment kind of way. Jim found he liked that, though it was kind of unnerving inducing because that usually wasn’t the reaction.

Still, that _had_ to be heavy. Jim was nothing if thoughtful, even if Vulcans one hundred plus could carry heavy wooden boxes no problem with their thrice as strong as humans super strength.

He reached out. “Hey, c’mon, let me—” His hand brushed against Spock’s as he grabbed the box, and if it hadn’t been for that, Jim probably wouldn’t have looked up expectantly.

One look at Spock’s face normally didn't reveal anything. You just got the implications, which was plenty fine with Jim. Right now, though, he could _tell_ that Spock was—what _was_ happening?

Jim _stared._

He watched dumbly as Spock shuddered and tried to regain control.

“Jim,” Spock said weakly.

Jim snatched his hand back away immediately.

“Shit, I’m sorry, I didn’t—” He cut himself off, because _damn._ That was _awkward_ , and if Jim knew anything about how he dealt with awkward, he needed to shut up right now before he embarrassed the old man. Jim and awkward mixed about as well as a drinking Coke and swallowing a Mento whole, because crapping in your pants and vomiting as a result was totally a good combination.

“You would not have known,” Spock said at last, once he’d calmed down, or whatever he’d just done just now that turned his face back to its normal expression. Which was back to being all Zen kung-fu master, thou art an impulsive young grasshopper, Jim Kirk. He placed the box back down and folded his hands behind his back. “Do not blame yourself.”

The right response probably would’ve been to apologize even further or something like that, because uh, _yes_ , it kind of _was_ Jim’s fault? It was kind of freaky in an I-think-I’ve-seen-something-I-shouldn’t-have kind of way, and Jim was absolutely sure that showing emotion was the Vulcan equivalent for pantsing yourself in public, if other Spock’s disgusted comms during their debates were anything to go by.

He opened his mouth to speak again, before a thought struck him. In that time, an ultimately oh _shit_ moment occurred in which Jim connected the dots.

“Wait,” Jim blurted. “You mean you guys—with your hands-?” He made a gesture that could not be called polite in normal company, mystified. “You get your rocks off by _holding hands?_ ”

If that wasn't the weirdest alien sex ritual ever, Jim didn't know what was.

“We are touch-telepaths, Jim.” Spock closed his eyes. “It offers a depth of intimacy that is not often shared freely even between bonded.”

“So what you're saying is that I propositioned sex to both you and other Spock?” Jim grinned. “ _I'm so awesome.”_

The side of Spock’s mouth twitched before he opened his eyes. “Indeed,” Spock said, amused. “However, Jim, I believe we are getting off topic.”

“Oh yeah,” Jim winced a little. A part of him had to marvel a bit at how fast the old man had changed gears. “Sorry.”

“Again, believe me when I say it is of no consequence.”

“‘No consequence’?” Jim repeated in disbelief. “Are we talking about the same thing here? It’s kind of a big thing that I nearly pretty much tried to do the Vulcan version of jacking you off. I might as well have grabbed your dick, and let me tell you that it’s fun to joke about it and fly over the rainbow and all, but actually doing it?”

“Jim,” Spock said patiently, though he almost sounded like he wanted to shake him. “You are aware of the intimacy evoked when our hands come into contact?

“Yes, duh, it just happened right—”

“Were you aware of it before it occurred?”

“No, but—”

“Then you cannot be blamed for it.”

Jim just stared at him. “Spock,” he said, exasperated, “Are we seriously arguing over whether or not I tried to sexually assault you?”

“I have no doubts that it would have been impossible to predict your actions,” Spock said mildly. “And while ignorance—”

“Oh my god,” Jim said. “You’re justifying it now. Are you justifying it? You seriously are justifying it!”

“On the contrary,” Spock said, doing that smile thing with his eyes that Jim decided right then and there, despite his disbelief, that he really liked. “I am offering you a window of opportunity.”

“What? Wait, really? For what?” Jim asked.

Spock’s eyes twinkled. “You seem to have a great deal of fun arguing, and I have found that I have missed enthusiasm on the other end.”

Jim felt embarrassed, so he shut up.

Spock suddenly looked up. “What time is it?”

“Ten, I think?” Jim said, confused. “But it’s not—”

“Jim,” Spock said, “I am an old man, believe me when I say that perhaps it would be best if we would take some time to digest all that has happened today.”

“Shit, sorry, my bad,” Jim said. “I didn’t mean to—I’m sorry.”

“It is forgiven,” Spock said kindly.

 “I—” For a few moments, Jim’s mouth opened and closed. “I should go back home, right?”

“Your mother will be concerned for you,” Spock said gently.

“I bet she’d love you,” Jim said, not distressed at all, in response. “Thanks,” he added. “I’ll catch you later, right?” After a moment’s thought, he persisted. “I _can_ come back, right?”

“You are always welcome here,” Spock replied.

“Great! I’ll—oh. Ohhhhhh.” Jim looked back up resolutely. “I see what you’re doing here.”

Spock raised an eyebrow. “I’m afraid I don’t understand,” he said, as if he hadn’t just shown, along with bad-ass powers, that he was excellent at manipulation of the old men sort. Those crafty old geezers knew how to get everything they wanted, from their children and grandchildren visiting them on week-ends, to sleeping in, playing golf, and eating whatever they wanted every day.

Jim just stared at him. “You know,” he said finally, “I actually believe you even though I know I shouldn’t.” He tried to glare, but it was kind of hard when it was Spock he was glaring at. There was just something that made it impossible.

Maybe it was because Spock honestly just went with the flow. He didn’t mind Jim’s random sporadic need to jump around in conversation, and he didn’t mind Jim’s naturally obnoxious need to talk. If anything, he indulged him, almost as though it was natural, and Jim hadn’t even noticed.

It was so weird, but in a really good kind of way. It was different from other Spock, that was all Jim could really say.

Seriously, what was up with all this soul-searching?

Spock, in the meanwhile, looked at him patiently.

Jim frowned as much as he could, but he ended up with his cheeks hurting.

“This is why people probably want to punch you in the face but don’t at the same time,” Jim accused, “because you’re this conniving and manipulative old bastard and nobody has proof, but they don’t bother because you’re you.”

“I’m me?” Spock repeated.

For the record, Jim loved to get the last word in. It usually proved how much of a brat he was to everyone who’d bother paying attention, but this time, he wanted to get the last word in because that was such a colossal dick move.

“You’re such an asshole, you know?” He scowled. “Both you and other Spock. Would it kill you to stop speaking in riddles and actually say what you think for once?”

And if Jim didn’t know better, he could have sworn that Spock totally agreed with him too, but by that time, he was out in the fields, Spock was in the Jellyfish, and there was no real way to confirm whether or not raising your eyebrow was the Vulcan equivalent for _who, me_ plus question mark, or laughing uproariously _._

\--

Of course, when Spock the Friendly Neighbourhood Vulcan was a bit of a jerk, obviously Jim had to extend the same courtesy to Spock the Slightly More Antagonistic But From Another System Vulcan.

_< <<Jim, please refrain from being needlessly inappropriate._

_But it’s only holding hands,_ Jim sent innocently.

Spock didn’t answer, which effectively killed Jim's strategy to get over his guilt with other Spock by making this Spock's life equally near mortifying.

Things were supposed to be balanced, right?

_> >>You life ruiner._

_> >>You've ruined my fun._

_> >>I HOPE YOU'RE HAPPY NOW._

_> >>MAY YOU SUFFER FROM LACK OF FUN FOR THE REST OF YOUR LIFE._

_> >>MAY NO ONE EVER HOLD YOUR HAND FOR AS LONG AS YOU LIVE._

_< <<Jim._

In surprise, Jim didn't answer at first. Instead, he stared at Spock's response in something akin to wonder. Because hey, usually Jim could spam Spock all he liked and Spock wouldn't answer.

Not one to look a gift-horse in the mouth, he sent, _Yeah?_

_< <<Did you not promise to tell me about the wildlife on your planet?_

_> >>Oh yeah! Definitely!_

_> >>Anyway, dinosaurs, right?_

_> >>Best things ever. I have one as a pet, actually._

_< <<You explicitly said you owned no pets._

_> >>No, I didn't._

_< <<I have eidetic memory._

Jim acted in the most mature way he could.

_> >>Fuck you, Spock._

_< <<I proclaim my undeserving, sinful, and forbidden fondness towards you as well, Jim._

\--

“Wow, Sam,” Jim said. “That’s a new low.”

“Look, just let Mom know I can’t be there for dinner, okay?” Sam asked. “Tell her it’s for this group project for Biology or something.”

“Why don’t you tell Mom yourself?” Jim asked, because if Sam wanted to lie to the Motherlord, that was his call. “You have a communicator. Version 8.4 with plan upgrade. You’re using it to comm me right now.”

“I only have about a minute left.” Sam shrugged. “Anyway, you can get home by yourself, right?”

“Sure?” Jim said incredulously. “Seriously, Sam, she’s going to be so pissed.”

“If it’s for school, she can’t say anything.”

“She’ll say it behind your back.”

Sam rolled his eyes. He'd been doing that a lot lately, like he was training for the Olympics. “Later, Jim,” he said, and hung up.

\--

The comm beeped. Upon further inspection, it turned out to be from the Motherlord.

It was a request for a real-time vid-comm, even though Jim could have sworn usually she made it a habit to call around ten when both of them were home no-excuses-James-Tiberius-Kirk-even-your-brother-has-no-trouble-with-that-so-why-do-you-can-you-explain-that-to-me. Weird.

Jim glanced at the chronometer. Nope, it was still a ways from check-up time, even if this kind of thing had gotten old once Sam had hit high school and apparently rules didn’t apply to him anymore (if rules didn’t apply to Sam they sure didn’t apply to Jim).

Then again, maybe she was getting paranoid in her old age—something they all liked to poke fun of, but never acknowledged that it seemed to stay the same year after year. Sure, she trusted them, but probably it was this adult thing. Trusting kids to take care of themselves was one thing, but trusting them growing up not to burn the entire property down and terrorize the town while she was out was apparently another.

He hesitated only for a second after he heard the second beep. When their mom was being stubborn, she could go at it for hours. It never reached that long except that one time when he and Sam had been out because they’d figured the other brother would be there, and when she’d finally gotten both of them, there had been a huge lecture that Jim was not so keen on experiencing again. Plus, she would be asking questions about what they’d been doing, and Jim wasn’t so keen on selling his own brother out or selling certain aliens camping out on the property out either.

Still, if there was anything Jim was bad at, it was lying to his mom, especially when she got suspicious or super mad. He had to pick up and somehow bull his way through. It was a good plan, before he sat himself in front of the comm and realized what he was doing.

There was absolutely no way Jim was going to try comming his mom from the comm in the kitchen. He didn’t even know what it did because he’d never tried testing it in a vid-comm, and if there was any error, like a glitch when there shouldn’t have been, he knew for sure that the Motherlord would freak. Engineer, yes; high-class equipment, yes; malfunctions at home, never, was her policy. Though she didn’t know her way around comms the way kids in Jim’s generation did, she knew enough (especially of Jim’s reputation from the rest of Riverside) that it nearly always was his fault.

Third beep—shit.

In record time, he hurriedly thundered upstairs, switched shirts from what he was wearing to one he found in the closet that didn’t smell too bad, rushed to the bathroom to splash water onto his face, and raced back onto the one in the hallway with not a second to spare, just as the fifth beep hit.

“It’s not my fault, I didn’t do anything, and you can’t prove it without evidence,” Jim said immediately once he slammed his hand on the keys, hoping that he didn’t look like he’d been off messing in the fields or too flustered. Moms were scary when they could tell what you were doing just by how you blinked.

Winona Kirk took one look at him and frowned. “Jimmy, is there something I should know about? You’re breathing hard.”

“No,” Jim replied, already sweating buckets (but mostly because he’d decided to grab a long sleeve), “but just so we’re in the clear, I’m innocent, and if I was masturbating, I would have told you.” He put a hand on his chest and raised the other up. “I swear to it, God be my witness.”

Never mind that he wasn’t swearing on a Bible. Details came later.

“Right,” she said, clearly not trusting him, and Jim couldn’t blame her, especially since her finding out the time he’d kept gasoline in water bottles under his bed, a heap of firecrackers, and various definitely not unopened bottles of alcohol and a med-kit was nothing compared to what she didn’t actually know. And if Jim could help it, she’d never have to. “What did you do this time, and why are you upstairs? I thought you hated it there.”

The upstairs comm didn’t have a seat, and had the ugly-ass portrait of some old long dead great-great-great-grandmother that had apparently been George Kirk’s favourite relative hanging on the wall. Jim didn’t know how the lady was, but from the way she’d been dressed up and the way she looked down on whoever passed before her like some kind of wizened old and warty gatekeeper, she’d probably been really strict. And she was pretty memorable, because when Jim had been six, he’d been convinced that someone was watching him when he went to the bathroom in the middle of then night, and Sam had never let him live it down.

 “I sought to reconnect with my appreciation with the dearly departed,” Jim said. “Of give or take about a hundred years. I also am considering making a shrine.”

 “That’s a lie,” Winona said. “You hate her guts just as much as I do, because this is not a learned thing. It was written in your DNA since conception, and I should know because I gave birth to you after I pushed you out between my legs and swore I’d never have a child again.”

It was official. This was the reason Jim’s mom was awesome and won all the awards.

“Right you are,” Jim replied brightly in his best fake-cheer voice you always heard on the MediaComm with reporters. “And now—”

“—the weather. Winona, what’s in store for today?” she finished, mimicking him, before returning her voice back to normal. “Well, Jim, I think we’re up for a shitstorm of bull sometime soon, so watch out for the particularly huge one that’s going to land right about now.” Then her face turned serious and Jim almost squirmed as the Mom-eye was turned on him. “Fun’s over. Jim, where’s your brother?”

He shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant. “Showering or something. How should I know?”

“This early?” Winona mused. “He wouldn’t have a date or anything, would he?”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Jim said, wrinkling his nose, because Sam actually hitting home run was not something he wanted to discuss. “No. Stop. Ew. Gross. Insert reactions here of Can We Not Talk About Sam’s Love Life?”

“You want me to stop?” she asked, as though she wasn’t trying to laugh.

“Yeah, stop. None of your business. You’re too nosy,” Jim accused. Never mind the fact that this was hypocritical of him. “Leave it. Also, I don’t want to picture Sam doing it dirty.”

“Jim, honey, you would be the last person to tell me, and you wouldn’t even need to open your mouth because I would be able to read you faster than you could cry that you were going to stab out your eyes.” She wasn’t mad or anything, as far as Jim could tell. Rather, she seemed kind of relaxed and not prepared to ground his ass six feet under. “He’s not here?”

He mimed zipping his lips.

“Very well. In exchange, I’ll leave the underage baseball euphemisms for when you’re older and have a girlfriend yourself. Or boyfriend. Or hell, an android.”

In all actuality, he was about to respond that he wasn’t interested before an idea struck him. As far as ideas went, this was actually pretty good, because it didn’t mean lying to her (really).

Jim put on his best wounded face and took a breath. “I’m sorry, mom,” he said very carefully, “but there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you.”

“Oh, Jimmy,” she said, and to her credit, she actually looked like an actual loving mother who gave hugs to her children, made them lunch before sending them off to school, and spent all her days as a housewife cleaning up the house and having fun while doing it.

In retrospect, the possibility scared the ever-loving crap out of Jim more than a lot of things, but he kept her gaze.

“It’s a confession of a thing I’ve been meaning to admit to for a long time,” he continued.

“Is this what I think this is?” she asked.

He took a deep breath. “Yes, mom. I’ve been seeing someone.”

Curiousity piqued, she shut up to just say one word. “Who?”

“He’s…” He hung his head. “An Alien.”

She gasped. “No!”

“It’s true. I love aliens. I know I should have told you this sooner, but they had dicks, pointy ears, and green blood, and I didn’t want to be judged.” He slammed both hands on the comm and pressed on, desperate. “But here I am, I love aliens, and if you can’t accept me the way I am, I’m going to run away from home and explore space. I’m ruined for humans and robots.” With a dramatic flourish, he leaned back, putting the back of his hand to his forehead. “I can never return to monotonous Earth life again.”

“Oh, no, say it isn’t so!” Winona Kirk cried, perfectly pitched wail enunciating her horror. “My own son! How did this happen?” She suddenly leaned forward, as though they were best friends hanging out and Jim would be an incredible tease if he didn’t share. “Seriously, how did this happen?”

Jim leaned forward as well. “It actually started when I accidentally comm’d him,” he said in a low voice, eyes never leaving those of his mother’s.

“Comm-sex?” she whispered back.

“Please. I’m not an amateur. I don’t put out on the first date.” Then he straightened. “Okay, not really. Actually, what I did with my day was bike around, terrorize girls, and pull their hair like a boss.” At her flat look of disbelief (that read better as, _The fuck, son?)_ , he added, “Okay, and maybe I did try to barter for the actual parts to make a flamethrower. And an engine.”

“What kind of engine?” she asked suspiciously.

“An old one,” he said innocently.

Her eyes narrowed. “How old? ’Fess up, Jimbo, or Sammy’s going to be neglecting to slip growth formula into your milk for the rest of your life.”

“Haha, very funny.” Jim shot her a look, but relented. “Ford inline 6 cylinder. Gas engine.”

“You should go for a cast iron gasoline I-6. They don’t make them anymore, but I think there are still some BMWs with an ultra-complex I-6.”

“Mom, I just need a good engine,” Jim said exasperatedly. “It doesn’t need to be that complicated. It just needs to be able to do the job.”

“No son of mine is going to take the easy road,” Winona declared. She was about to say more before she glanced off screen. “Okay, be there!” She looked back. “Sorry, Jimmy, but I’ve got to head back to work. I’ll check up again later, and we can finish. Or I can start yelling at your brother and you can sit in the corner and watch. You have my permission.”

“It’s cool,” Jim shrugged. “It’s not like I need a _mom_ or anything.”

Her face fell. Whoops. Brilliant idea, Jim Kirk, just keep putting your foot in your mouth.

“I don’t mean it like that,” he said immediately.

“I know you don’t,” she said. “But I am sorry that I can’t be with the two of you as much as I’d like.”

This was where Jim sensed feelings and blame talk was going to happen. And he definitely didn’t want to do that, not now or anytime soon.

“We’re still having dinner, right? Tomorrow?” he asked, in an obvious attempt to change the subject.

To his relief, she didn’t question him. “You sure you won’t be too busy?” Winona managed a grin that on any other person would have passed as completely sleazy. “What with your new alien significant other?”

“I’m a family guy.” He gave a non-committal shrug. “He’ll have to deal.” His stomach gave a lurch though because _whoa_ , he actually had been talking to his mom about Spock, never mind the fact that she thought he was joking.

“You let him know if he tries anything funny with you, I can kick his ass three hundred and six ways off Earth.”

“Fix his downed spaceship for him?”

“Three hundred and seven, I sit corrected.” Her eyes softened. “Jimmy, you sure you’ll be alright? I mean, Sam’s going through that time in his life where he’s transitioning, getting a feel for who he is.”

Jim did not want to talk to his mother about how much he needed to understand that Sam was going through a phase. As far as he concerned, it could be whatever Sam wanted it to be. It wasn’t any of Jim’s business anyway.

Clearing his throat, he waved and tried to look cool and unattached. “I’ll see you later, mom. And I don’t love you,” he added, as an afterthought. “It’s just my admiration for you that’s a monotonically increasing unbounded function.”

 “You flatterer,” she said fondly, though she did look a bit thoughtful. “Oh, and Jimmy?” She made a little waggle of bye-bye with her fingers and tapped the side of her nose. “Gold does look lovely on you, but next time you change shirts in a desperate attempt to look as though you haven't been doing something I wouldn't approve of, try not to wear the fancy ones backwards and inside-out. The tag’s been sticking out the whole time.”

With a co-conspiratorial wink, the comm ended with a beep.

Self-conscious, and convinced the portrait of the Ye Olde Crone Gatekeeper was laughing at him, all Jim could do was stare at the blank screen and think, _Damn. She’s good._

\--

All things considered, Spock was actually pretty cool for someone who had initially thought (and still was convinced of the more Jim tried to argue) humans were all super emotional, intent on meaningless exclamations and extremely volatile. Following a rather (instead of heated, but pretty civil) discussion, Jim realized he hadn’t ever met anyone that admitted word for word that he was “rather pedantic about semantics” and very enthusiastically (Jim felt, though it was kind of hard to tell for sure) cared and argued about said interpretations of the structure of a theory, its subject matter, and why it even mattered in the first place.

Still, he was beginning to bet that he’d never find anyone with quite as much as he had to say, with exception of Spock’s future self, for whom Jim might have been harbouring the love of all platonic loves.

 _I do not understand why you dissemble ignorance,_ Spock sent one day. _It does not much suit you._

_> >>Wow, Spock, thanks. I’m flattered._

_Jim_ , Spock sent.

 _Spock_ , he sent back.

Spock, understandably, was kind of annoyed.

_< <<You are a fiercely intelligent and dynamic individual, with almost revolutionary tendencies to leap from one topic to another, yet I often find myself in constant need to re-evaluate my opinion of you._

_> >>Translation: Good or bad?_

_I suppose it would be Good,_ Spock allowed, grudgingly, as though it was hurting him.

 _And?_ Jim prompted, because there was more that needed to be said.

<<< _One might also call your mind stimulating._

Whoa, stimulating. Jim was stimulating now.

 _I’m stimulating?_ He sent.

 _< <<Jim_.

If exasperation were an emotion, maybe Spock would be feeling it right now.

_> >>That a ‘Jim, shut up’, or a ‘Jim, I don’t understand’, or a ‘Jim, let’s move on’, or a ‘Jim, you asshole, I have nothing to say’?_

_It is not that,_ Spock insisted, and if it wasn’t the fact that Spock was always so sincere when it came to the fact that most people would bitch-talk right back, Jim would have continued.

_> >>Why don’t you just say my personality is a Vulcan turn-on, and we’ll leave it at that? We’ll hold hands and everything. Skip in the park if you want. I’ll pack a parasol and you can wear a dress._

The thing was, Spock didn’t joke. So the only logical explanation (if Jim tried to think logical like Spock, only a little more Jim-like), was that Spock was actually, shit-in-your-pants, stoically one hundred percent serious that he was trying to give Jim a compliment.

“I’m incredible,” Jim declared to himself. “And stimulating.”

Then, he felt embarrassed and changed the subject.

This continued for about a few days. The Getting Embarrassed and Changing Subjects Dance that Jim had begun to realize had floated to him too. There were things Jim didn’t want to say at all, but there were things Jim wanted to say, and then there were things he found himself saying without thinking twice. It was ridiculously new and made him feel self-conscious.

Somehow, somewhere along the line, Jim realized he and Spock had become actual friends.

\--

It was like shit hitting the fan, in a literal formation and suddenly whacking him in the face with it. Jim _hated_ being the last one to know anything. Over the years it’d developed like a sudden whiplash—if there was anything Jim didn’t know about, he’d find about it soon enough.

Sam used to call it his inability to mind his own business, but Jim had long since stopped listening to him. He didn’t pay much attention when he realized Sam’s bike was propped against the house or when there didn’t seem to be any weird giggling in the living room or upstairs. Instead, he tromped on upstairs, to see Sam staring at the comm in stony silence.

“Ew, Sam, if she’s stripping for you—”

“Jim, shut up,” Sam said fiercely, voice tight. “Mom has something to tell you.”

“Mom?” Jim echoed in surprise, as Sam stormed past him and into their shared room. The door slammed close behind him, leaving Jim staring back at him in confusion, before turning his head back to the comm screen. “Mom? What’s going on?”

The last time he’d seen Sam and Mom get into an argument, it hadn’t been pretty. It had all the signs, too, what with Sam looking pissed off, Mom looking pissed off, and Jim being completely confused as to what was happening. Looking back on it, Jim would have dearly loved to have been informed by something that hadn’t been his brother’s pseudo raging and the tell-tale signs that shit was going down, but even then, it was iffy.

“Hey, Jimmy,” Mom said, though she seemed less than enthusiastic, and more blunt than anything. “I may as well spill the news: I’m getting married, in a weird-ass shotgun wedding, and Frank is moving in with you guys by the end of the week.”

It wasn’t the most eloquent way of spilling any news, but this defied even the most considerate of social conventions. At first, Jim thought she was joking. Then he realized she wasn’t when she didn’t suddenly burst out laughing and cry, “Gotcha!”

“You’re getting married?” Jim demanded, trying to wrap his mind around the idea. “Why?”

Out of all the things Jim would’ve thought his mom would end up springing on them, remarriage had not been on the list. Sure, he loved her a lot. Sam did too. But considering that she’d loved his dad with as fierce a devotion as Jim could ever remember, and held strong when he’d been young enough to not know better about asking about all the things in the attic that belonged to some guy named George who definitely wasn’t Sam, he’d thought that she’d have stayed single forever and that George Kirk would have remained That Dead Guy in the family holo-vids whom everybody said Jim resembled.

“Because I can, Jim,” Winona replied, and she sounded like she'd had this argument way too many times to even bother to care too much about it anymore. “And think about it: It’ll be good for you two. I won’t need to check up on you anymore, if you ever need an adult, Frank’ll be there instead of me on the other side of a comm screen—it’s all good.”

“Oh.”

She raised an eyebrow and studied him almost obtrusively. Even if Jim's mom had only really been home to raise him when he was younger and sometimes came home once or twice a year if he was lucky, she knew him well enough to tell when he was uncomfortable with something.

“Jimmy, you trust me, right?”

“Yeah.” Jim nodded. And then he added, “Is this going to be a thing? Because way too many people have been asking me that.”

“You need a dad,” Winona said, ignoring his question.

“Oh,” Jim said, stomach sinking. “So he's going to be my dad?”

“It'll be great, Jim,” she continued.

“Great?” Jim echoed. Great? What kind of great? Jim had thought they'd been doing pretty well without a dad.

“We can actually be a family again.”

Weren't they one before?

“Anyway, look, I gotta go,” Winona said, and directed her gaze behind Jim to where the bedroom door was. “Let your brother cool down a bit, and I'm sure he'll come around. You're on my side, right, kiddo?”

“Yeah,” Jim said. He didn't know what else to say.

His mom grinned at him, but Jim couldn't find it in him to grin back. It didn't matter though; three seconds later, she cut the connection, and Jim was left staring at the comm screen still wondering what had just happened.

“So there you go,” Sam said from the doorway. Jim turned to look at him, but Sam didn't _look_ calmed down, but he didn't _look_ angry either. He looked like he was in a mix of both. “What do you think?”

“Good for her, I guess?” Jim asked, glancing back at the blank comm screen. “I mean. She deserves it.”

“Mom’s getting married. To some…some guy we don’t even know. And you know what’s going to happen?” Sam glared, and stepped closer. “You know what that means for us?”

 _Someone moving in with us?_ Jim wanted to say, but he had a feeling that Sam would get even angrier at that. He shut his mouth.

“It means we’re going to get _another dad._ ” His older brother paused, and looked at him pointedly. When a few moments passed, Jim realized that Sam was waiting for him to react, because Sam didn’t look at anyone that intensely without wanting someone to do something or say something specifically.

“Right,” Jim said, feeling like everything was going over his head. “Sure. Can I get back to you on that?” he asked, hoping to stall for some time.

 “I don’t believe you,” Sam grit out, make a sound of disgust in the back of his throat. “ _Frank’s replacing Dad!_ And your only response is, ‘Can I get back to you on that’?!”

Jim was the last person Sam should have confronted about this. All Jim knew about George Kirk was that he looked like him, and that maybe one of the reasons Mom liked to go away so often was because he was growing up to look like him (when he’d said that aloud once, Sam had punched him and told him never to say that again). All that he knew was that Mom was going to be happy, and that maybe Sam would start coming home if there was someone who needed to watch over them.

“Maybe we should cut Frank some slack,” Jim suggested. Who knew, maybe he wasn’t such a bad guy after all. Maybe he was nice. Maybe he could teach Jim how to drive a car and all those things dads taught you.

Sam drew back as though he’d been burned. “Are you _crazy?_ ” He hissed. “Don’t you care at _all_ , that she didn’t even bother to ask us?”

“But she did, technically.” Jim pointed out unhelpfully. “You just didn’t want to listen.”

“No, Jim, she _called_ us to let us know.” Sam towered over him. “Stop defending her.”

“I’m not,” Jim protested.

“You _are_.” That was the end of that, as far as Sam was concerned. That was what pissed Jim off all the time. Ever since Sam had gone into high school, he'd been this huge jerk whose final words were the final words and nobody could argue with him. “Even if she did care, it doesn’t matter now, does it? It’s all _done._ Frank’s moving in. We have no say, or we’re automatically ungrateful brats.”

“Mom doesn’t think like that,” Jim said, and if his voice was getting quieter, it wasn’t his fault. Being angry at Sam for being an asshole was one thing, but when it had to do with Mom, Sam had always been right. “She’s doing her best,” he insisted, but at the same time, he couldn't help but think he was echoing something. Like this had been said before.

“For who, Jim?” Sam demanded. “For her? Or for us?”

Jim didn’t answer.

“Look, Jimmy,” Sam said. “I don’t want this to happen. And I know you don’t want it too. You just usually do whatever she says because she’s never home, and I’m not home to pay attention to you, but now you really have to make your own decision.”

“I’m not needy.”

“I know.” Sam sighed. “I know you’re not. And I’m sorry, okay? For all those times.”

“You’re not,” Jim said. “Remember? ‘Pinky-swear that we’ll never have to say sorry. Guys don’t do that.’”

Sam didn’t say anything. All Jim really could see was Sam’s worn out jeans and Sam’s sneakers, and all he could think was that he didn’t want to be here, he didn’t want to be sitting here having Sam lecture or yell at him or whatever Sam wanted to do. It was easy to rile Sam up, just as easy as it was to rile Jim up too. They were born hotheads, Mom had once said, and they’d taken it from her. They didn’t handle pressure, but they thrived under it. Sometimes they thrived badly, like when you had a seized engine because you didn’t have enough oil or you had too much oil pressure, and everything in the engine just melted together so that it was no better than a garden ornament, and you had no choice but to replace it with a new engine because it couldn’t be fixed.

Jim wished he could know what to do or say to fix all this.

“Jim.” Sam crouched down in front of him, and when Jim looked up, it was different. Sam seemed so alien now, which was hilarious, considering Jim knew two aliens, and they were the best two Vulcans he could have ever hoped to meet. “What do you want?” He shifted again, legs still too long for him to get comfortable with. “You can answer, you know. And I won’t tell.”

Somehow, even though Jim didn’t want to, his shoulders started to relax. But it didn't help him feel like this could go any better.

“I want Mom back, Sam,” he said. “And I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Too bad,” Sam said, and sat down in front of him. “Because I do.”

Jim glanced at him, but Sam wasn't looking his way.

“What’s going to happen?” he asked at last.

“You mean with Frank?”

“Mom,” Jim said glumly. “Us. How it is, y'know,” he gestured faintly at nothing, “now, right? What’s going to change?

“With Frank, he’ll think he’s our dad and he’ll think he has the right to tell us what to do,” Sam said. “Either he’s not going to give a crap, or he’s going to treat us like his own damn kids.”

“I don’t like being told what to do,” Jim said.

“Me neither.” Sam sighed, and then inched across the floor, and settled himself against the wall next to Jim. His arms were long and gangly, and his jeans didn’t fit right because they were too short now.

“Does he want to take care of us?” Jim asked.

“Nobody does, remember?” Sam shrugged. “Kids are a handful. That’s why Mom’s never here.”

“I can take care of myself,” Jim said.

“I know.”

“I can feed myself and I can dress myself, and I don't need someone telling me what to do.”

“I know.”

“Is he going to replace you, Sam?” Jim asked, looking up. Not at Sam, but just up. Like he was looking from a very small place dug down under.

“Do you want him to replace me, Jim?” Sam asked. He sounded tired. Not like Sam. Not angry like he’d been these days, not so different and full of personality and attitude that Jim’s response was to swallow.

A small noise came out from Jim’s mouth unbidden when he met Sam’s eyes.

“I'm sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.” Sam drew his lips into a thin line, but he wasn’t looking at Jim now. He reached out and pat Jim on the shoulder, awkwardly, like he wasn’t even sure where to begin.

“Why would Mom do this?” Jim asked.

“Because she’s a selfish bitch who only cares about herself, duh.” Sam leaned his head back and closed his eyes. Shoulders slumping as though he’d just lost every inch of fight in him, Sam lowered his head back down. “She loves us, but not as much as she loves herself. That’s a fact of life, and that’s a human being. That’s her.”

It didn’t seem fair that she’d just throw away their father like that or the fact that the three of them had been _happy_ to leave everything as it’d been. Jim might not have grown up knowing him, but from what he knew, George Kirk had made her happy. Sam had been happy. He didn’t want to hear his mom being torn down like that; if it’d been anyone else, maybe Jim would have fought him. He didn’t want to have to fight Sam, though. He’d fought with Sam every day, more and more when Sam had decided he'd wanted to grow up. It'd ended in petty insults being thrown back and forth and just ignoring each other for the rest.

“I hate this,” Jim said at last, struggling to try to understand what it was he was feeling and why. It was hard enough that he realized he didn't really understand his mom either. “Doesn’t she care about us?”

“Not enough to matter,” Sam replied.

They didn’t talk much after that.

–

The weirdest thing was that it was hard to talk to Spock now—the younger one. It hadn't been an issue before, but now that Spock was his 'friend', everything felt off. Jim felt like he'd been pushed back and forth in an oscillating motion, where gravity didn't make sense and he checked every so often and second-guessed himself every second. How come it'd been so easy in the beginning to just talk to Spock? Maybe because Spock hadn't just dropped a vat of _emotional complimenting_ into his lap before. Add to the fact conversation always veered off when it came to Spock's own private life, Jim really didn't feel comfortable talking about his own asides from passing commentary.

What did you do with friends, was what Jim wanted to know. It was easy enough playing with other kids during school, but Jim had long since excluded himself from a lot of circles. It was the same generation of kids, just growing older in the same town. There were only two elementary schools you could go to in Riverside, and both Jim and Sam had grown up in the same one, so having someone to play with come recess hadn't really been an issue until Sam had graduated.

Jim was _selfish_ , he realized. If he looked at it from a stranger's perspective, it was great for his Mom. Raising two kids on her own wasn't easy. But he didn't want to. And he didn't really want much of their family to change. It scared him now how much time he'd spent with the two Spocks until Sam's out-of-place comm about lying to Mom made him realize he hadn't so much as spoken with Sam face-to-face for a very long time.

He couldn't talk to older Spock about this, Jim realized. It wasn't right. It'd make him look ridiculous. It was...an idea that made Jim vaguely uncomfortable with someone knowing.

Besides, Jim thought. Older or younger, it didn't matter. Spock probably didn't have many problems at all when it came to his mother.

\--

Sam wasn't home yet, so at least he wouldn't know that since all of the two hours ago, Jim had headed straight home from school and to his bed where he'd basically done the equivalent of sitting there, standing, then leaping right off and pacing. Several times. A part of him still wanted to use his communicator and ask Spock for some advice, or even comm Spock who officially awkward-feelings was happening with. He didn't trust himself to be able to talk to anyone, really. It was just Sam and him in this.

The thing with Jim was that he couldn't stay still. Even now, unable to concentrate, even with school having started again, everything felt tense. The conversations he'd had with Mom and Sam had been a couple of days ago, but even then he found himself thinking hard about the moments and trying to figure out where to go from here. He tried to picture what life would be like with a fourth person in the family. He ended up trying to clean up the room only to make a bigger mess out of it when he lost his temper.

What Jim wanted to do now was ride. What he _would_ have done if he'd had a choice was ride. Keep moving something that would be more productive than nothing at all. But where would he ride to? Riverside was so small. For once, Jim wanted to be able to ride a bike far away and not need to stop. He didn't want to feel conflicted about someone replacing Sam. He didn't want to think that Mom, for a second, might be in the wrong, or that there were too many ways to look at it for any way to be completely right.

Then he started feeling mad. If Sam hadn't made such a big deal out of it in the first place, Jim wouldn't have had to worry. It'd have been a good idea without needing anyone to--

Jim breathed in and let it all  out, feeling his shoulders slump. He wandered around again until he noted the bag he used to bring things back and forth from the Jellyfish half-obscured by the bottom of his bed covers. He pulled it out, seating himself on the floorboards, unzipping it and pulling out everything from tools, to spare parts, to receipts. Nothing questionable if you ignored the fact that at the bottom of the bag were some things not of this century.

He turned his attention back to the PADD he'd lent to Spock for a while.

He leaned back against the side of his bed as an afterthought, stretching his legs and booting it lazily with a touch of a button and unlocking it with a slide of the stylus.

One of the things Spock had done to the PADD was upgrade it a little. Considering it'd been second only to Sam's latest PADD in terms of make and model, Jim had even been more appreciative of a look into the 24th century. There was a neat encryption code that Jim hadn't been able to hack the first time he'd seen Spock run it and Spock had offered him a chance to test its security for himself. If you didn't get the password right several times, all the data got deleted, but not before it did another encryption onto the deleted data and purged it completely. Jim hadn't been very keen on the idea of losing all of it, but Spock had assured him he'd memorized it and it was a simple matter of re-inputting it. Even then, the most either of them could have worried about was if Jim forgot the password.

It surprised him when he was met with a blank screen.

A mix of dread and horror shot through him when he tried to figure out what was wrong and he realized this was the equivalent of a wiped PADD. Everything was gone. Weeks worth of backed up data and calculations deleted and completely unrecoverable.

He heard the downstairs door open.

“Sam!” Jim hollered, and leaped to his feet. One hand slammed against the wall while the other one clutched at the PADD with as tight of a grip as possible. He thundered down the stairs, temper rising. “Sam, you asshole, did you touch--”

He stopped.

“Are you Jimmy?” The man, who was certainly not Sam, asked. “I'm Frank. Nice to meet you.”

Frank was tall. He was big, and he was beefy, and Jim didn't understand why his mom had chosen this person out of all the possible people in the world. He looked like the complete opposite of George Kirk, giving off a rough approximation of being built big to do more physical labour than anything else. His eyebrows were dark and bushy, his chin clean-shaven but Jim could estimate a scraggly beard had been there once, and his overall countenance too different.

 _Different._ A stranger in Jim's house who looked nothing like George Kirk.

Maybe that was the point.

Jim took one look at the extended hand, then behind Frank to where Sam had let himself in with stony silence and was now looking everywhere that wasn't Jim. Then he looked back at Frank, who was waiting expectantly. There was a small twitch in Frank's eyebrow, the smile turning into a frown, and then Frank lowering his hand. Jim looked back at Sam, but there were no cues of any sort.

What was he supposed to do?

“Your brother has already met me,” Frank continued, when Jim looked at Sam for too long. “It's going to be hard to adapt, I know, but it's going to be great.”

Jim didn't say anything.

When Sam brushed past him to go upstairs, Jim was still staring. Frank stared back.

“Jim!” Sam yelled from their room. His voice sounded faint. “Come upstairs and clean your shit!”

His eyes still glued onto Frank's, Jim didn't look away until he turned around and thundered up the stairs, feeling Frank's gaze dig into his back all the way.

\--

With Frank coming to live with them, things were changing. There were _rules_ now, that hadn't been there before—or at least, if they had, then it hadn't been so obvious. Rules that maybe other households lived by, but not as Jim's had. Now, there was an exact bedtime, not an estimated one. Now, there was an actual limit to how often they could use their PADDS, the computers, or the comm. Now, there was a _curfew_ written in stone, where before, it'd been Mom's annoyance but ultimate forgiveness, not punishment resulting in staying home or having “privileges” taken from them. Now, there were allowances, but if that was the price to pay for all the sacrifices, Sam didn't want it, and subsequently, Jim didn't want it. But it wasn't a choice. It was an obligation. Just as it wasn't a democracy, but a dictatorship.

Somewhere along the line, Frank had Mom's permission to make close to anything happen. He was their new guardian, whether they liked it or not. Gradually, Jim thought he understood where Frank was coming from. Everything was to keep them safe. But, like Sam had said, it wasn't _right._ You couldn't do that. Not to them, because while Frank might have grown up like this, or maybe he thought this was the right way to raise kids, but it wasn't, even if you were supposed to. Jim didn't have a good explanation, but you just didn't.

It wasn't like they didn't have an actual say, but the fact remained that Frank's word over theirs now weighed a lot more with Mom, never mind the fact that Mom had known them for their whole lives, and she only knew Frank for a brief portion. Sam thought it was stupid, and Jim might've thought so too, but the arguments Sam had with Mom and Frank both got more frequent, and Jim didn't want to add to the mix.

Changes continued. There was actual breakfast time that everyone had to sit together. Lunch time together wasn't an option, with exceptions only when the two of them were at school. Clubs were allowed, but they had to comm ahead if they were going to be late. Frank had to pick them up. They couldn't walk there and back, because it was dangerous, never mind the fact that it was a small town, and if there had been a murderer there, they would've started killing them ages ago. They weren't allowed to go out with their friends without telling Frank where they would be, how long they would be, and a comm frequency for the friend's house. And they were absolutely not allowed to go out and bike without biking around a specific area, during which Frank would check up on them once in a while.

It was _stifling._ Jim hated it. Mom had hated it too, which was why she'd given them as much freedom as they wanted (to an extent). He didn't understand why it was that now she'd suddenly allow someone else to make the rules. She hated being ordered around. So why was it happening to both Jim and Sam?

If Jim had hated the new rules and the restricting curfews, then Sam utterly loathed them. Sam fought it the most. He was always the one arguing with Frank or Mom, and he was always making things a lot more difficult than they needed to be. Jim didn't. It was hard enough trying to adapt to things without making things shittier, so instead what he did was that he tried to find ways around the rules. That was pretty much how he thought things always worked. Meeting things head-on? That was what Sam and Jim did. But fighting a losing battle wasn't what Jim intended to do, and if he could win without Frank figuring it out, then it was better for him, instead of just rubbing it in Frank's face like Sam did and making it so that nobody was happy.

Jim's communicator had a limiter put onto it, and Sam refused to relinquish his, only resulting in a shouting match which finished in Mom getting comm'd, Mom getting angry at Sam and telling him to just _work_ with Frank, it wasn't like getting a limiter installed on your communicator was the end of the world. Jim thought it was bullshit. Sam's communicator was his own business, his PADDs his own business, and who he talked to and who he hung out was his own business. It didn't matter who Frank thought he was, or who Mom thought Frank was; he didn't have the right.

The most problematic about everything was the fact that Jim did not and could not have the freedom to communicate with either Spocks as he needed to. He managed to comm younger Spock about it and convince him to help him figure out ways to try to circumvent the new laws and find loopholes, but Spock refused to do any more. Older Spock too was a problem; the limiter kept track of who Jim comm'd and who comm'd Jim, even if it was an unnatural frequency, and Frank checked every single one. Jim managed to get permission to go with Sam to visit a friend and make Sam swear to lie to Frank that Jim was still there when he actually wasn't, but even when he told Spock about what was going on, there wasn't anything the old man could do.

“I must respect the wishes of your guardian, Jim,” Spock said very kindly. “I would not wish any trouble upon you.”

“I don't care,” Jim insisted, but Spock was very firm on it, and told Jim he wasn't to come because Spock wouldn't let him in. It was almost betrayal, and Jim would have gotten so much angrier at him and maybe yelled out a few things he'd regret had it not been for the fact that Spock had looked just as sad as Jim felt. It didn't stop him from hating Spock once he got home to think about it, just as how he hated younger Spock because the guy had thought that Jim just didn't want to talk to him anymore and that was why Jim didn't answer for long periods of time, and he just didn't _understand that Jim couldn't control things anymore_.

That Jim couldn't do things like he used to.

That it wasn't Jim's _fault._

“Where do you even go?” Sam demanded, when they met up back in their shared room. Frank had been downstairs, working on his car—apparently, that'd been how he and Mom had met in the first place—and Jim had crawled in through the window while Sam had went up the stairs like a normal person. A very lucky time. If Frank had caught Sam without Jim beside him, both of them would have been screwed. “You weren't even there at the meet-up. You just scribbled on the ground.”

“And it worked, didn't it?” Jim snapped back. He wasn't in the mood for this. He wasn't in the mood for anything. All he wanted to do was be left alone for a while, and hate things.“You came home.”

“Where – did – you – go?” Sam repeated, enunciating and pronouncing every syllable as heatedly as he could.

“Just somewhere, okay?” Jim snapped back. He hoped his body language read _drop-it_ enough that Sam could take the hint, but Sam hadn't bothered studying that chapter on acceptable human behaviour when it came to minding your own business and respecting everyone else's right to it too.

“No, you're telling me,” Sam demanded, and settled himself on the other side of Jim's bed, kind of like they always used to do when they were younger and goofing off past bedtime. “I know you don’t have friends, so if you're doing something stupid that'll result in that _asshole_ \--” Frank, according to Sam's vocabulary, didn't deserve having his name mentioned, “--suddenly deciding that we're not allowed out at _all_ , I've got to know.”

“Fuck you, Sam,” Jim snapped back. If Sam didn't care about how much harder Frank was on both of them because he kept arguing with Frank in his face, then what would Jim care? Sam didn't know what it was like to suddenly lose a brother, and gain friends who knew you a lot better and maybe even more than your entire family. Sam didn't know anything.

“What do you do?” Sam asked, when neither of them blinked or looked away. “Where do you go? Because don't think I don't know you're going somewhere.” Without warning, he suddenly stood up and reached for Jim's backpack.

“What're you doing?” Jim demanded, half-alarmed and half-having a heart attack. If Sam looked in there, there was no way he was not going to ask more questions.

Leaping forward, he managed to wrestle it out of his brother's hands.

“What're you hiding?” Sam demanded.

“Are we seriously talking about this?” Jim asked, incredulously, heart hammering in his throat. “How about I say how creepy this is? Don't I get some privacy?”

“What about that PADD of yours? What was so special you had to set it to wipe clean if someone unauthorized tried to access it?”

“Why the fuck are you going into my stuff?” Jim grit his teeth, hands tightening around the PADD in question.

Sam didn't answer. He made a sound of disgust and turned to go.

“Hey,” Jim said, leaping for Sam's untouched PADD. Might as well return the favour. “What's this, your diary? Let's see what _you're_ hidin--”

He wasn't prepared for suddenly being knocked to the ground, and feeling ultimately winded as he stared up at Sam incredulously from the floor. Sam clutched the PADD to his side, breathing heavily through his mouth and looking at Jim the same way he'd looked at Mom. Angry, betrayed, and in blatant disbelief.

Sam drew close. “Don't,” he snarled through clenched teeth, “touch my stuff.” He turned around, and shoved it in his bag.

“Dude,” Jim said, finally finding his voice. “It's a _PADD_.” It was hypocritical of him, but technically, Jim hadn't tried to physically hurt or manhandle him.

“Mind your own fucking business.”

Jim felt his face turn red. “Oh, and I'm just supposed to _listen_ to you? You know what that is? You being a dickhead.” He sat up. “You went into my stuff first. What the _fuck_ , _Sam_.” He stood up. “Seriously.” He stepped closer with each following word, “What. The. Actual. Fuck.”

When Sam slammed the door closed behind him, Jim didn't even bother to feel better.

“What's going on?” He heard Frank's voice.

“Fuck off,” Sam replied, voice already fading as he stormed down the stairs. “It's none of your business.”

Without a word more, Jim got up and locked the door, just as Frank tried it open, and knocked.

He shuddered in another breath, even when his hands didn't stop shaking, staring straight at the door he'd never thought he'd be so grateful for. So happy that it held and that it was a barrier, so he didn't have to look at Frank's stupid face or stare at Sam's departing back.

Frank knocked on the door after trying the knob again. “Jimmy, you there?”

“Go away,” he said. It died in his throat, so he cleared it and tried again. “Go away.” This time, it shook a lot more than Jim would've liked it to.

“I heard you and your brother fighting. If you want, we can talk to your Mom about it.” Frank's voice was deceptively reassuring. Jim hated it. Jim hated Frank. “I can comm her right now if you'd like.”

Jim's fists clenched.

What the hell did Frank think he was playing at?

“No,” he told the door. “I don't. I don't want it at all. Leave it alone. Leave us alone. And if you tell Mom about it, I'll deny everything, because it didn't happen.”

_Because you can't tell me what to do. Not Sam, not me. You're not George. You're not our dad._

“I'm calling your mother,” Frank said. “Don't worry, it'll sort itself out.”

Jim grit his teeth. He felt the muscles in his jaw clench, and didn't answer.

–

He ended up going through Sam's PADD. It was still on Sam's bed in the bag where he'd left it, and Jim just thought that—hey, fuck it. It didn't matter, and he didn't give a damn. Fuck Sam for everything. Maybe he'd even upload a virus onto it. It'd be worth it to see the horror on Sam's face if he couldn't access any of his stuff or think he'd have lost everything.

Hacking through it wasn't laughable. Whatever Sam had wanted to protect, he'd wanted to keep it a secret, and it'd been years since he'd given Jim any real reason to give him trouble with his PADDs. But Jim had been working around 24th century stuff, and if that didn't give him reason to have new perspectives on things, nothing else would. That, and Sam hadn't changed much of his access codes since he'd distractedly given them to Jim one faithful evening.

There wasn't anything special in Sam's PADD when Jim managed to unlock it. Nothing that would warrant anything violent, from what Jim could see at a glance. Sam organized everything in folders because he was a neat freak like that. Even the PADD itself was specific to one topic. All Jim had to do was go through everything, and maybe he'd find out what the big fuss was.

Evidently Sam hadn't been expecting anyone to go through his stuff, but there were restricted folders to be opened by access code only. Jim couldn't get into any of them, but the names were telling enough: Biochemistry, Genetics, Molecular Biology, Neurobiology, etc. Everything biology-related you could think of, that Jim doubted Sam would sneak in something dangerous for fear of ruining his lovely organizational associations.

Jim frowned at it. So what had Sam been all uptight about?

There was only one thing in the entire PADD that didn't have a folder or restricted access. It was a single text file at the very bottom.

Jim opened it, with full intention to ruin Sam's PADD for him when he was done.

Fifteen minutes later, he relocked the PADD and set it back where he'd taken it, as though he'd never touched it in the first place.

\--

The next afternoon Frank was in another town, away for business. Whatever business it was, Jim didn't care, only that it meant that Frank wouldn't be back until a few days later. He'd listened with only a half-ear as Frank had programmed the emergency comm numbers into the comm, paying more attention to his replicated breakfast than the sound of Frank's voice, or the promises of checking in on them every few hours. The instant Frank had left, Sam packed his stuff to go, but not before he went over to the comm, and deleted every single number Frank had inputted.

“I'm staying over at someone else's house for a while,” Sam said, even though he didn't have to. The fact that he had his suitcase on him was more than enough information. Jim bet he had the PADD too because last night when he'd come home while Jim had been pretending to sleep, he'd scrambled into his bag only to be relieved that everything was still there.

“Yeah, yeah,” Jim muttered. “Don't wait up, right?”

It was only when the door had slammed shut that Jim breathed again, pushing his cereal to the side and slipping out of his chair. He didn't want to eat. Somehow, he trusted that he couldn't stomach it, what with the fury of yesterday now settling in his stomach like something cold and molten.

His communicator was locked in the drawer upstairs. Frank had taken it away even when Jim had protested that it'd been for upgrading, because a) Jim was too young for something like that and b) it went against Jim's allotted communicator time, and c) he didn't need it while he was in the house because he could just use a comm. It didn't justify when Jim had to be without it, but if anything, it gave him a better incentive to do what he'd thought of doing ever since Frank had announced his departure.

Sitting around didn't suit Jim, especially these days. He road out to the cornfields instead, relishing in the wind whipping through his hair, the ease at which he could navigate and control where he went. It wasn't anything like what his life was like now—under someone else's rules and regulations, under a roof that Jim couldn't really see as his and Sam's own anymore, not with an intruder lurking to-be permanently in their midst. The bumpy roads offered him more traction and relief, clearing his thoughts as he pulled up his bike and road down through the grass at the side, jerking him this way and that.

The cornfields still had the same access codes, and when Jim cautiously went through, he found himself even more relieved to see that the Jellyfish was still there, and Spock was working on it.

As soon as he spotted Jim, he straightened. There was this huge unreadable expression on his face; not being able to translate Spock's face made Jim uncomfortable in a way he couldn't describe.

“Hey, old man?” he asked “I know you said don't come, but I--” Don't want to be on my own for a while. “Don't know what else to do with my time.”

Spock stared at him, and Jim shifted uncomfortably.

“Please,” he added. “I just don't want to think today. I want to do things. I know you don't want to go behind Frank's back, but he's not coming back until tomorrow afternoon, and I'm so fucking pissed at you but it isn't funny. But I need something.”

Spock continued to look at him.

“You can't make me talk about it,” Jim said suddenly. “I don't want to talk about it.”

Spock didn't need any other words. His gaze softened, and he nodded.

Spending time with Spock was like somehow making everything rebalanced again. He spent an hour around the Jellyfish just looking at how things were doing. Spock had given him small assignments to do; things that wouldn't keep him there for hours. Jim finished them slow on purpose, but he couldn't not do them. He liked seeing equations work out, just as he liked going over the parts of the Jellyfish and getting small programmed pictures to dance on the screens.

He ended up watching Spock work for a while. It held the same comforts as it used to because Spock knew what he was doing, and his fingers seemed to too, moving just as quickly as the data on screen. At the same time, Spock hadn't said a word since the time Jim had arrived here, and that thought frustrated him.

Jim didn't want to not be able to talk to Spock. Either one.

“What should I do?” he asked.

It dawned on him that he could say anything he wanted, and it was Spock's decision to answer. Or whether or not he wanted to answer.

“Perhaps you would be better off asking your brother,” Spock replied quietly. Even if Jim hadn't told him anything, Jim had a feeling Spock knew what was going on.

He hated it. It wasn't Spock's to know.

“What? Sam actually knows something that isn’t being an asshole?” Jim asked.

Spock didn't answer.

“You aren’t serious,” Jim said.

“I am very serious,” Spock affirmed, and fixed him with a gaze that may or might not have been rather sad. Jim felt like just about the worst younger version of Spock’s best friend Jim in all of the universes.  “Jim,” he said gently.

He fought it, only for a few seconds before his shoulders slumped. “I’ll ask,” Jim said, trying to get a grip on himself, “but only because you really don’t ask me a lot. If ever. But don’t expect anything,” he added. “I won’t promise anything.”

Spock couldn't ask anything else. It wasn't a fair thought, but that—anything else, Jim didn't even know if he could give it. He didn't want to. Yes, Spock had given him so much, but Jim didn't think he could extend the favour. However freely Spock had been able to grant any of Jim's request—it made him feel like a huge dick.

“That is all I require,” Spock assured him, but it didn't make Jim feel any worse that the one thing Spock had ever asked of him, Jim had resisted doing as soon as he'd heard it.

\--

When Jim couldn’t find Sam when he got back from helping Spock work on The Jellyfish (which, Jim was actually really starting to love despite the fact it didn’t belong to him and would go away and leave him heartbroken and forever starship-less), it wasn’t a big deal. It was probably just some impromptu study gig or maybe Sam getting lost on his way back from the figurative outhouse. Not like it hadn’t happened about a million times already. He’d ask when Sam got back home.

Too tired to take a shower, Jim instead opted for dropping his backpack at the end of the room.

Five minutes after crashing on his bed, Jim realized the entire room was wrong. There was something off about it, and even if Jim wasn’t that paranoid, he hated anyone messing with it as much as Sam did. So, must’ve been Sam somehow, the long-legged, tall and not-a-midget bastard.

He scrambled off the bed and checked under it. His own things were still there, so there wasn't anything to worry about. Everything was accounted for.

Snooping around the room didn’t do much for it either. Most of the floorboards were nice and tight, and the loose ones didn’t yield any hidden treasures except for a growing pile of mould in a section where Jim had deposited bread to see if he could grow penicillin, purposefully get an infection so he could test it, eat the mouldy bread, and not die in the process of rediscovering antibiotics. That plan had been shot once he’d learned he was super allergic, and Sam had denied him his Rocket Science PADD for a week.

There wasn’t anything wrong with Jim’s side of the room as far as he could tell, not even when he leaned out of the window as far as he could without falling out and rolling down off the roof.

Something was super up though. Jim didn’t get antsy for nothing, and he’d survived this long by gut instinct and sheer genius for the most part, so he decided to look under Sam’s bed.

Sam’s suitcase was missing, which made sense because duh, Sam was over at someone’s house. Sam only used that suitcase for overnight school excursions or sleepovers with his friends. Jim didn’t, but he could totally understand the appeal of conversing with people your age who actually were smart enough to get you. Jim’s classmates ranged somewhere around dumb, dumber, and not-interested most of the time.

His bag was gone too, but Sam had taken that with him.

Jim wandered downstairs a bit ruffled, before something in the kitchen caught his eye.

Sam’s PADDs were scattered in pieces in the recycler. It had to be, Jim knew what recycled PADDs looked like because he may have been responsible for the death of Sam’s whatever-number PADD, and Jim didn't own any PADDs in those models. The fact that they were there in the first place was a definite cause for worry.

“Sam?” he called. There was no answer from anywhere in the house, so he headed downstairs to the basement slash part-of-the-garage they had. “You there?”

Instead of Sam, though, he found Frank.

“Frank?” he asked. The name felt disagreeable on his tongue, but it was better than calling him 'dad'. Even the thought made his stomach clench. “Where's Sam?”

It was weird to ask a stranger where his brother was. Just as weird as it was to suddenly talk to said stranger when before Jim had been, for all intents and purposes, keen to avoid him.

“Where did you go?” Frank asked instead.

Jim didn't waver one bit. He stood his ground and looked Frank in the eye. “Where's Sam?”

“You left without telling me where you were going,” Frank said. “And so did your brother.”

Of course they wouldn't tell Frank anything. They were under no obligation to.

A thought came to Jim that Sam might've stayed away because Frank was home.

“Sam's PADDs are in the recycler,” he said, waiting to see Frank's reactions.

There was nothing, not even a twitch. Frank had one of the best poker faces Jim had ever seen. “I know.”

“How did they get there?”

“Obviously someone put them in there.”

How was Jim supposed to respond to that? Was he supposed to scream? Was he supposed to fight for Sam, or did Sam just let it go? Angrily, he stepped forward. “Funny, considering it was _you.”_

Frank's face didn't reveal a lick of emotion. “I didn't.”

“Oh yeah?” Jim sneered. “Okay, let's see. If it wasn't me, and it wasn't Sam--”

“It was Sam.” Frank propped up the hood of his car.

Jim stared at him.

“It was Sam,” Frank repeated, eyes peering down at the engine before him and taking in what he needed to do. He almost looked like Jim's mom, except for there was no light in his eyes when he took in something that needed to be fixed or something he could do for it. Instead, he loomed over, taking in the needed repairs without so much of a thought. “It wasn't me.”

“Liar,” was the thing that first came out of Jim's mouth.

Frank looked up, a look of annoyance on his face. “Look, I've had enough _shit_ with your brother, Jim. I'm telling you it was Sam, and you're not going to believe me? Here, let me tell you what else he did. First, he wrecked my car,” he gestured to the dents in the side of the door and the smashed in windshields that Jim noticed only now, “then he goes and picks a fight with me.”

“Right.”

“I asked your brother where he thought he was going, and where he'd been. He didn't answer. I asked him what he was taking with him. He threw a tantrum and rammed everything in his bag in the recycler. I told him I was going to sell the Corvette—”

“You’re _what?!”_ Jim stepped forward. “What do you think—that’s not _yours to sell!_ You can’t do that!”

 _“Jim_ , I know you love your brother, but you're making too many excuses for him.”

“I'm not making excuses,” he said, gritting his teeth. Frank was changing the subject on the Corvette on purpose.

“For his behaviour? Yes, you are. You're thinking he's justified in everything he's doing. You know what? You're not alone. Your brother thinks so too.” Frank leaned back against the car. “But you know what, Jim? Neither of you know left from right yet. You're still kids. You still need to have someone to look after you because you don't know what the right decision to make is yet.”

“I know what the right decision to make is,” Jim said defiantly. The right decision was to kick Frank in the balls somehow and wipe that expression off his face. “And so does Sam. He was right to fuck up your car.”

“Yeah?” This was the first time Frank had anything equivalent to anger on his face. A bad feeling crept up Jim's back. “Alright, then. So tell me, you think it's a right decision for your brother to throw things around like a kid having a tantrum? To scream at your Mom and tell her she doesn't deserve anything she's worked hard for? You think he has the right to say any of that?”

Jim's mouth went dry. “What?”

“I paraphrased most of it, but I'm sure you can guess, Jim.” Frank looked suddenly sympathetic. It was the most disgusting expression Jim had ever seen, because it made his own stomach coil violently and want out. “Your brother left. He told your Mom she could go to hell, and he left, Jim. He left _you_.”

“Sam would never.” It didn’t seem loud enough.

“He did, Jim. I know you love him. I know that despite everything that's happened, you care for him.”

“No, you don't,” Jim shot, voice choking. He didn't want to be here anymore. He wanted to run out and never look back, and never touch this topic again with a pole. This wasn't happening, and Sam hadn't-- “You don't know anything,” he insisted.

“Jim. Your Mom told me.”

Jim had never thought for once that he could have hated his Mom so much, or been so angry at her. He'd never once thought a desperate wish that her judgment was wrong. He'd never wished as hard in his life as now that she didn't know him or Sam.

“There's a difference between the relationship you have with your Mom and the relationship Sam has with her,” Frank was saying.

“It doesn't matter,” Jim heard himself say, and he wanted nothing better than to shut Frank's mouth up, so he wouldn't have to hear him or acknowledge anything said, or let doubt brew in his mind as it did even now.

A part of him knew that Mom wasn't as close to Sam as she was to Jim. It wasn't that she didn't love Sam as much. It was because, and Mom had admitted this to Jim too once, that Sam was a bit too serious and it was only really with Jim that she could treat him like an actual friend and hang out. Jim thought back to the times whenever she'd be comming them to check up on them. When Sam would just leave a blatant hello and just leave it at that. He thought back to the long, insanely fun conversation he'd had with his Mom when they'd been talking about Sam and why he wasn't there. She'd brought back the conversation to Sam near the end, because she'd cared about Sam. Because she'd cared about Jim and Sam both.

So Frank was wrong. Frank was completely wrong and he had no right to speak like he was the one who knew what was going on.

“You're wrong,” Jim said. “You have no idea what the fuck you're talking about. Sam wouldn't do that.”

“I see this is a losing battle.” Frank turned back to his workbench, but Jim wasn’t done yet with him.

“Sam wouldn’t do that,” Jim repeated fiercely. In his mind, he dared Frank to look him in the eye and tell him, he dared Frank to tell him more lies, heart pounding loudly in his throat and fists clenching at his sides. “He wouldn’t do any of those things you said.”

“Jim,” Frank said, and Jim hated hearing his name being said like that, like he was just this little kid who was too young to understand conversations between adults. “Your brother isn’t perfect.”

Jim glared. “I know Sam, and I don’t know you,” he spat. “Don’t tell me who to believe in.”

Without a word more, he rushed back up the stairs to the ground floor. He ground his teeth and stood there for a few moments, blood pumping and chest heaving.

Goddammit.

_Goddammit!_

Sam had been right. Frank couldn’t be trusted, and he sure as hell wasn’t looking to be their father, but he’d already begun taking George Kirk’s place there like it’d been where he’d always belonged. Like he actually had a place in here and they were obligated to just give all that trust and everything to him like they had no choice in the matter.

His mind flashed back to the previous day, when Frank had comm'd Mom and Jim had been forced to tell her everything that'd happened. And she'd been, for all purposes, intent on punishing Sam the instant he came back home. She'd never done that before. She'd always been fair, always listening to both sides of the problem. When Jim had been smaller and Sam hadn't had as short of a temper, sometimes they'd have gotten into fights. Mom used to have been the regulator.

Ever since Frank had come here, everything had changed. It was all Frank's fault.

Jim made a decision that moment. When Frank wasn’t looking, he doubled back downstairs, and stole the keys off the rack.

Mouth dry, hands shaking, and body tense, Jim ran out, ducking under the garage door to where the Corvette still was parked on the driveway.

\--

Sam was Jim’s big brother. Even if they were a few years apart enough to have arguments where they couldn’t see eye to eye and it was a practical miracle that Sam hadn’t drowned Jim at birth, Jim could count the amount of times Sam had lost his shit on one hand. Because the thing was, Sam didn’t. Didn’t, as in, did not, as in not having the tendency to. He didn’t get angry to the point of breaking things, he wasn’t a complete asshole to the point of suddenly deciding that everyone else around him was wrong and that he was right, and he most certainly didn’t just up and leave without leaving a least a message. Sam was supposed to be responsible while Jim was supposed to be the complete opposite. That was how it worked and how it’d always worked. He’d look after Jim even when Jim didn’t want to be looked after, and Jim would kind of relent and be the brattiest but still coolest little brother ever.

Whether or not they spent time together as much didn’t change what they meant to each other. That was how Jim had always viewed it, because that was how it’d been for their mom and them, long before she’d decided to get married to Frank, and long before Sam had decided that he didn’t want to hang out with Jim.

In all honesty, Jim had been really cool with that, even if he hadn’t liked it. It’d been the same way he’d been cool with their mom suddenly taking more and more jobs away from home to the point that the get-together dinners once a week became once a month, and then turned to get-togethers over the comm instead of in person.

Even if it felt like Sam had left to save his own hide, Jim didn’t blame him. From what, he didn’t know, but he was okay. He was totally okay, even when being in a holding cell without older Spock to ask serious questions of or younger Spock to ask obnoxious questions of, and even when Sam’s sudden disappearance without so much as a goodbye felt distinctly like being abandoned.

\--

“Somebody's here to pick you up,” Robo-cop Number Three said, whirling and making beeping noises. The door slid open.

Jim looked up blearily, but it wasn’t his mom’s face that had appeared next to the Robo-cop’s. Or even Sam’s. Both of them or either of them he would have been relieved to see, because it was familiar, because it was how it was supposed to be. Instead, it was Frank’s.

Realization hit him like a punch in the face. Frank was now on Jim's emergency comm list. Frank was now a part of this family.

And Sam had left it.

“Come on,” Frank said stiffly.

Jim didn’t scramble to his feet, but he got up as slowly as he could. Riverside didn't have much of a jail—being a small town, it meant that whoever really got busted got grounded on their own terms. Small, petty crimes were all that happened, and even then. While Riverside only really had a volunteer sheriff, Iowa City's officers did patrol around regularly. It was only Jim's luck that the Iowa City cop had been waiting for bait.

“Have a nice day,” the secretary at the front desk said carefully as they passed his desk. Jim waved a little out of habit, but there wasn't so much of a smile, so he dropped his hand.

When they left the building, Jim could see Frank’s old beloved clunker. It was a hideous piece of machinery, vehicle, whatever, and Jim suddenly hated it with every fibre of his being. He wanted to key it. Wanted to see it crash into pieces like the ravine in which he'd said goodbye to the Corvette. Better it ended in scrap than in someone else's hands, to be sold by Frank who had no right at all to sell it in the first place. He was mollified slightly to see that the dents had yet to be hammered out, or that even the windshields had yet to be replaced.

He sat behind Frank directly so that if Frank wanted to look at him, he'd have to twist all the way. At the same time, Jim wanted to be as far as possible from him. He didn't want to be in the same space as him, he didn't want Frank to pick him up, and he didn't want Frank here.

“Your mom's coming back as soon as she can,” Frank said, pulling out of the drive and onto the road.

There was no need to tell Jim what had happened. The implications of the empty passenger’s seat alone had been enough to make Jim’s stomach drop as soon as he'd seen it. He tried to swallow past the lump in his throat even thinking about it.

“Jimmy?”

Jim didn't answer him, preferring to stare as much as he could outside of the window. As they drove onto the road, the scenery began to whip by them.

Frank took Jim's supposed silence to be a shrug or a request for more information. “Look. I can't pretend that I'm not still angry at you. But,” he stopped, “I'm trying my best, here, okay? I don't have the best track record with my temper or dealing with kids.”

Jim stayed silent, and tried to count the people passing by, but Frank's voice was too loud to be ignored or shut out.

“I know you don't like me. And, if I were to be honest, maybe I don't like you too much right now either. Give me a chance, is all I'm saying.” When Jim didn't respond, Frank continued. “Your brother's not a good replacement for a dad, Jimmy. You need a real one.”

Jim's blood ran cold. “Don’t you dare.” Jim could hardly hear his own voice, but it seemed entirely alien to him. His stomach dropped cold and low. All he could really concentrate on was the fact that he wanted to punch Frank in the face, even though he knew he physically couldn't. “Don't you fucking dare.”

“Don't I fucking dare what?” Jim didn't flinch, but his body tensed at the sudden hardness in Frank's voice. “Be your dad? Scold you? Tell you something's wrong and try to get you to see that you're not all as much as you think you are? Because I think I'm doing a better job than anyone else in your life ever has.”

“You're not my dad,” Jim said. He felt trapped, closed in, and unable to leave. If he hadn't left. If maybe he'd stayed instead of going to see Spock, maybe Sam would've taken him with him. “Don't you fucking tell me what you do. You're not my dad and you never will be. Not even if you try, not even if Mom says you are. Don't you fucking kid yourself into thinking you're my dad. All you are is a fucking _replacement._ And you're not going to be that, because I'm not going to let you.”

There was a rigid silence in the car.

“Alright,” Frank said, and he sounded exhausted for a moment, the same kind of exhaustion Jim thought he'd heard in his Mom after she'd argued with Sam when she'd told him she was getting married. “Alright, I get it. I'm not your dad. But you're grounded.” As if that word had any weight on anybody.

Jim didn't answer him. As soon as the car drove up into the driveway, he was out of the car, slamming it as hard as he could, and tromping up the stairs.

Twenty minutes later, when he heard Frank comm Mom from downstairs, he locked the door to his room. Then he left the house by the window, and snuck into the garage to grab his bike.

\--

“You lied to me!”

Chest heaving and fists clenching even angrier at his sides, Jim could only glare ahead. Spock didn’t look the least perturbed. He looked more like he’d been expecting Jim’s rather loud and furious entrance. It only made Jim angrier.

“You knew!” he shouted, drawing closer. “You fucking _knew_!”

“Knew what?”

A noise came out of Jim’s mouth. “ _Sam_!” He grit his teeth. “You knew all about Sam!”

To Spock's credit, he didn't even try to pretend that he didn't know what Jim was talking anymore, or raise an eyebrow. That was good, because Jim didn't know how much faster he would lose it if Spock even tried, but bad, because Jim wanted to have every reason to be even more mad at the old man. Instead of lying to Jim's face, Spock took a step back. It was like a slap in the face, the distance that Spock needed to have, like Jim was mauling him.

“I had hoped we would have revisited this topic in better circumstances,” Spock said.

“'Better circumstances'?” Jim was so pissed off. He'd thought he could have trusted Spock. The long hours he'd spent with Spock just relaxing again, just believing that everything was back to normal again—he'd thought it'd been better with Spock than being alone. “Oh, right, better circumstances, right, like Sam doesn't leave home a few days after Frank moves in—”

“What would you have done had you known?” Spock asked.

Jim hated it. The insinuation that that even if Jim had known, he would have been incapable of stopping or reasoning with Sam. Sure, Jim had talked about Sam. But Sam wasn't Spock's brother, and there was no way Jim was going to believe Spock knew how to deal with Sam any better than Jim did.

“I would have stopped him,” Jim said, and drew even closer. There it was again, that step back. “That's what I would have done.”

There was something almost sympathetic in Spock's eyes. Jim _hated_ it. The same way he'd hated Frank who tried to be what he was supposed to be but what he didn't really care to want to be. The same way he'd hated how he suddenly couldn't control anything in his life anymore, that he couldn't live recklessly or figure out how to deal with it.

Spock closed his eyes and seemed to be counting something, or trying to figure out what to say. There was nothing Jim could do but wait. A part of him couldn't help but think this was all pretty stupid, since it was long past right now, and wasn't Spock someone who had always been there for him? But Jim didn't care. When Spock's eyes opened and his voice sounded too sorry to have been anything but _emotional,_ Jim didn't care.

“Jim,” Spock said quietly. “I could not tell you because I did not _know._ ”

Jim stopped breathing. “What,” he managed out, before suddenly everything not being fair hit him in the face. “What,” he said. “Is this supposed to be a joke?!” Of course not, Spock didn't tell jokes. “Do you think this is funny?!” Of course not, Spock wouldn't find anything funny if it was at Jim's expense. “Aren't you supposed to be from the future?!”

Everything that was coming out of Jim's mouth now was filled with desperation. Jim didn't know if it was because he'd always just expected that Spock, being from the future, would just _know_ everything.

“Aren't you supposed to know things and tell me how to fix them so I don't make mistakes? So that things can be _better,_ so that I don't—I don't--”

When he struggled to find out how to breath amidst his outburst, Spock spoke again.

“Time travel does not immediately grant someone the right to share the knowledge they know. A single change in an event in the past may completely alter the future.”

“ _So_?”

The volume of Spock's voice lowered.“Even you, Jim, would have been unprepared for the consequences that would have followed.”

“Fuck consequences.” Jim was surprised to find how steady his voice was. It was the complete opposite of how he felt inside. He could hardly see straight, nevermind think it. Spock was just like Frank, trying to control his life and Jim was _sick of it_. He was sick of it all. “I don't give a _fuck_ about consequence. Do you think I care? I don't.”

He was prepared to argue with Spock if Spock said 'no'. Jim didn't even _know_ why he wanted Spock to say 'no'.

But he didn't.

“Yes,” Spock said quietly. “You don't.” It wasn't mockery. It was agreement. And it only made Jim angrier.

“Fuck you,” he spat out. “Fuck you. Just—just _fuck you_ , okay?” His hands clenched open and closed. “Fuck you and your stupid logic and your stupid starship and your stupid everything.” He wished he'd never come close to suddenly deciding to go to the cornfields. He wished he'd never spent time with the old man. It wouldn't have hurt this much if he'd left everything alone. “I hope you never fucking _make_ it back to Vulcan and just _die alone._ ”

He knew it the instant he said it that it was uncalled for. He knew it the instant he saw something in Spock's eyes pain that he shouldn't have said any of it.

Jim could have handled it if Spock had gotten angry. He could have handled it in a lot of ways if Spock had decided that he didn't deserve to be treated like this. In every fight he'd had, verbal or physical, it'd always just been the question of who was willing to give up first. Who was weaker. Nobody Jim had ever fought with wanted to be the big man.

“I apologize, Jim,” Spock said, and he didn't look Jim in the eye. “But I think it would be best if you left now.”

The one thing Jim couldn't handle was someone not willing to fight.

–

Jim didn't even bother trying to pretend he wasn't angry with himself as much as he was angry with Spock. Frank was long done talking to Mom. Jim could still hear him working out in the garage.

It would've probably been best if Jim had just given up and gone to sleep. Maybe deal with it in the morning. But all he could think about was that he didn't want to think about how angry he still felt, how much it hurt for Sam not to be here anymore. Spock hadn't asked it, even though if Jim had been in place, Jim definitely would have, but one of the real reasons Jim was angry at Sam was because he'd just _left._ Without telling him anything. Without saying anything. As though Jim didn't matter anymore.

<<< _Jim, I apologize for my decision to react as I did the other day. My words were unwarranted and you were far from deserving of them._

It was days old, sent almost immediately after Spock's brush-off and Jim's subsequent frustrations with him. Another day, Jim might've forgiven him completely. And maybe another time he would've been surprised to see that it was a message Spock had sent out of no obligation to, but all he could think about right now was how much he couldn't have a _fight_ with older Spock. But he could with this one.

His hands shook. His fingers practically jabbed hard and punctuated every letter.

 _> >>Oh fuck no._ _No. No. Never._

_< <<Jim?_

_> >>Fuck you. You don't get to say sorry and suddenly we start over._

_Jim, I do not think this is a good time for us to talk,_ Spock said, almost quietly.

>>> _What, you suddenly take it all back? Someone gets angry at you and you can't dish?_

Spock hesitated, but only for a moment.

_< <<You are emotionally compromised._

>>> _Oh, that's a laugh. I'm the emotionally compromised one. You've learned that just now?_

_> >>Humans **get** emotionally compromised, Spock. That's called being a fucking human being._

_> >>Oh wait._

_> >>I **forgot.**_

_> >>You motherfuckers aren't even human._

_Jim_ , Spock sent, empathically, _perhaps we should resume this when you have calmed down._

>>> _When I've 'calmed down'._

_> >>Why the fuck would I do that_

_< <<I do not wish to fight you._

Too bad. Too fucking bad Jim wanted a fight.

_> >>Your MOM thinks so. Fuck you._

Spock didn’t answer.

What made him even angrier, Jim realized later, when he was in bed and glaring at the ceiling, was the fact that Spock was in every way entitled to.

\--

Out of all the movies, books, and texts from the so many centuries that humanity had been alive, what they never really told you was that how everything was bullshit. They said a lot about how a person dealt with loss, how someone figured out how to get strong again after falling so much. But they didn’t mention how it plagued your thoughts. They didn’t mention how it felt to have this irrational guilt that didn’t literally eat away at you, or how you kept thinking about what would've happened had you kept your mouth shut. Or maybe they did, but it wasn't even close enough. The kind of phantom memories whenever you passed by the doorway or even stood up to walk. How much it emotionally made no sense to feel so shitty, and how much you both wanted to get away from it but stay by it at the same time. Or, in other words, how words never could really measure up to what it actually felt like.

 _Congratulations, Jim_ , he thought bitterly, as he walked up the stairs. He tried the doorknob and realized he'd locked it and that'd been a part of how Frank had missed his absence. _Just give yourself a pat on the back._

Jim didn’t know what to think. All he could understand was that he was both pissed and feeling completely shitty beyond a level than he'd ever been before. If he compared now to all those times he'd gotten into a fight with Sam over something, or the times when he's argued with his mom because he hadn't thought something was fair, it was entirely different. With Sam, it was—had been--all screaming and insults, getting the other person to either break down or just refuse to say anymore. You won when you felt like the world's biggest asshole. With Mom, it was teasing and mockery, little ways of trying to figure out things but at the same time, fighting your battles under the guise of an almost playful atmosphere until it became a complete war zone. Jim never won those, because the only way would've been to use the father card, and that was one thing he'd never do to his mom. With Sam and Mom, Jim had options. He knew what would happen, or at least an idea of it. With both Spocks, he was at a complete loss, mostly because he didn't _know-_ know either of them.

By the time Frank came up to check on him again, Jim had unlocked the door from the other side, and was lying on his bed, hating himself.

\--

Mom was home. Jim hadn’t heard so much of a complaining engine, and if anything, she always knew how to maintain her vehicles the best. Jim had been six the first time she’d let him help out by passing her tools from her toolbox, and they’d had a game in which they’d scatter parts of anything onto the driveway and try to name them all in one breath right after. He missed that now, he realized. It was a random thought, but it only made him want to become one with the bed and just be simple. Just be used for sleeping and get thrown out when he was old or nobody wanted him anymore.

There was a bit of silence where he figured she and Frank were having a little talk, but Jim had long since memorized how she sounded coming up the stairs. It’d been years since the last time, but he didn’t even flinch when she paused before his door.

“Jim?” She knocked once, and then opened the door a crack. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t want to talk,” Jim said. “I don’t need to. You said when Sam got mad, I wasn’t allowed to press him if he didn’t want to talk. You always said that. So you can’t make me talk if I don’t want to. And I don’t want to.”

She opened the door all the way this time. “You angry at me, kiddo?” It wasn’t light, but it was said in a way that seemed so quiet that it made Jim hate himself for forcing his mom to feel like she was walking on eggshells. Jim never wanted to be a problem for her. He never wanted it to be hard for her to talk to him. It’d always been the opposite. “I get it,” she continued softly, and for a second, Jim thought she actually did. “It’s not fair.”

“No, you don’t,” Jim said bitterly, and if his eyes were squeezed shut so he wouldn’t have to look at her and feel even more bitter because hearing her voice made him miss something, nobody had any right to say anything about it. “If you got it, you wouldn’t have gotten married in the first place. Sam’s mad because of that.” Sam left because of that. Sam’s not here because of that.

It was a horrible move. It was a horrible thing to say to her. Jim refused to take any of it back.

“Can I come in, or should I go away?” She was giving him choices now. Great. “Jim?”

“I’m actually not Jim,” he said flatly. “I just thought this body looked nice.” Then he opened his eyes and stared at the other side of the room. “It doesn’t matter. You’ll come in anyway.” But she’d always ask first, because that was the Mom rule, and Jim’s mom did that.

“Do you want me to come in?” Winona asked.

“I don’t know,” Jim admitted.

“I’ll come in.”

Jim nodded once, slow and stiff, eyes staring straight at nothing specifically on his bed covers. “Okay.”

“Are you alright?” she asked, settling herself on the edge of the bed. Jim didn’t even remember the last time his mom had been home to actually pay homage to the My Room My Rules charter of the Kirk House. It was oddly reassuring and conflicting to have her there at the same time.

He didn’t look at Sam’s bed.

“If I lie, could you still tell?” Jim asked. With moms, you couldn’t be too careful. Jim still remembered the day he learned that all mothers had eyes in the back of their heads.

“Depends on how good you’ve gotten, kiddo,” she replied, amused. When Jim forced himself to look up on the count of three, he bit his tongue so he wouldn’t say anything stupid. She still looked tired though, as though she’d just come straight home from work and still had been working on work on the commute back. “I wouldn’t have the energy for much of it right now, though.”

“Oh,” Jim said. “Okay.”

Winona reached out and Jim let her goad him to sit next to her. It wasn’t dependency. It wasn’t like he was sitting on her lap like he had when he’d been younger. He didn’t do anything either, once she put an arm around his shoulder and pushed him to lean into her side, gently running her fingers through his hair.

They didn’t talk. Usually, in the general gist of it (re: school), whenever Jim got in trouble, he got yelled at. It was different with his mother. Mom never yelled at him after it’d passed, just during. She never looked disappointed either. Just resigned and maybe amused at times, and only really got mad when Jim did something stupid or when it was something either he or Sam needed to understand or should've known better about.

Jim remembered a long time ago when he’d been small and hadn’t known better, and showed her the album full of holo-pics he’d found stashed in the attic. She’d just been super sad back then, and had called Chris (who used to work with his dad, but who never came around for visits, and who Jim knew as Chris too because once he’d comm'd for mom and Jim had been the only one home and they’d talked and it’d been great). She’d told Chris how she couldn’t handle this, that she was damn independent but she didn’t know what to do now because she thought she could handle it when Jim was born, but it didn’t mean she didn’t miss George any less. That was how he felt she was sad now, and he wondered if along the way home, she’d been talking to Chris, trying to figure out how to learn how to talk to Jim again as someone who was her son and not just a friend. Because friends were easier to talk to than your son.

“Mom?” he asked. It felt odd, to have her respond to that, her head leaning against his and nodding. “Did you find Sam?”

“No,” she replied, fingers still stroking his hair.  “I haven’t. Wherever that brother of yours has gone, he hasn’t been found.”

It was wrong for her not to call Sam by name. Jim thought this must’ve been how Sam felt, when George Kirk had died. It sounded like she didn’t want to fight for it anymore. Jim hated it.

“He got an acceptance notice,” Jim said. “For Deneva. I saw it.”

“What the fuck is Deneva?” Winona asked, but it wasn’t angry, or loud. Just tired. Just confused. Just delirious. Just not knowing where to go or what to do from here. She took a breath and sighed, feeling heavier by Jim’s side. Her fingers stopped, but they still thread through Jim’s hair.

“He’s going into research biology,” Jim continued. “They liked his thesis. They offered him a scholarship.” He reached out and touched her elbow. “I think he accepted.”

“Your brother always was such a nerd for that field, it’s a wonder I managed to keep him home this long.” Her voice was faint. Mumbles to herself.

“I hacked his PADD for it,” Jim admitted. “I didn’t mean to.”

When she didn’t answer, he continued.

“He was just this asshole and he blew up when I tried to use it. So.” Jim licked his lips. “So I wanted to pull a prank on him.”

Nothing.

“I’m sorry, Mom,” Jim said very quietly, vision starting to blur. His mom’s fingers started moving again, down his face, and her hand covered his eyes so he could cry. “But I don’t want Frank here.”

“I’m sorry, Jimmy,” she murmured back, she buried her face in his hair, other arm looping around to embrace him.

She was sorry. That was it. No solution, no compromise, just a sorry. Jim didn’t even want to feel bitter, but he did. She was sorry because she was selfish. Jim got that. She was selfish, she’d always been, wanting to keep her job but also wanting to raise her kids who maybe would have hated their new families because they would have been more restrictive than she ever would have been, but they definitely would have been home at lot more often. It was harder for her that she had two kids. It was harder for her to admit that she'd done nothing but run away from them the instant she'd realized it was too much. She wanted to keep everything, she wanted things to work out. It wasn’t fair at all, and Jim knew it wasn’t her fault that Sam had decided to leave.

Sam would have gone anyway. He’d hated it here in Riverside more than Jim had, because he’d had a taste of what it was like to live in a place where nobody knew who you were, a place where credits talked louder than words.

It was lonely, Jim realized. The room he and Sam shared for so long was now too big, and Sam’s bed untouched was too much. He missed being called to go to bed. He missed hanging around with Sam and exchanging stupid insults. He missed not knowing the difference between having a friend and having a brother. He missed not knowing better.

“Do you love Frank?” Jim asked.

“Yes,” she said.

“Do you love him more than…” Jim swallowed, and his voice became quieter. More croaky. “More than Dad?”

She didn’t answer him.

In all honesty, Jim hadn’t expected her to.

\--

In time, she’d excused herself, and Jim had felt empty. Sad. He hated it.

Suddenly he was angry. Then he was sad again. It was pitiful. He had no control, and he couldn't suddenly pretend to be on top of the world again, feeling great, like nothing bad had happened.

The thing was that nothing was surprising or unexpected. Just hurtful. Jim had always known Sam would leave. He’d always known that Mom would leave too. Either by accident or by another part of life, by opportunities or by just impromptu decisions—Jim had known all along that he wouldn’t have been able to keep his family. It wouldn’t just be the three of them. One day they would have all left, and Jim still probably would have been floundering. But if it hadn’t been as sudden as this had been, Jim wondered if he’d have been more okay with it. More chill. More used to it.

He hated how much it bothered him. He hated how much he’d been so cool to the idea. He hated how he’d gotten so angry over Sam that he’d lost Spock—both of them.

At first, it’d been the initial fact that he had an alien pen pal that made him stick to Spock the younger. And okay, maybe it was because Spock had just generally been hilarious, because Jim didn’t know what the hell he’d say next. Sure, Spock was all logical, but there was this inane sense that they were so different from each other, but the way Spock saw things was a lot more complicated and thorough than anyone else Jim ever could have asked. Spock who had been great because he didn’t ask for much—was it that Jim had been using Spock, or was it that he’d genuinely liked talking with Spock over the comm?—because he actually really thought Jim was interesting and as alarmingly amazing as Jim had thought Spock was. They’d had _fun_. Spock had been this complete stranger who had _become_ someone.

And it hadn’t been a question of what-ifs when it came to the other Spock. The idea of an older Spock from the future had been kind of hilarious at first, until Jim had realized just how much different and how much the same Spock had been to his younger self. He _knew_ Jim. He _understood_ Jim. Spock who had been unpredictable because he’d just _given_ , given so many things that Jim didn’t even realize that he’d wanted—Jim had thought at one point that maybe that this was what having a dad was like, a grandfather maybe, or at least, having someone who _knew_ you, who you didn’t have to worry about not, who you could be stupid with or who you could be smart with—wanted someone who was glad to just have what Jim could give him. A stranger who wasn’t a stranger, who already had been a someone in Jim’s life in another universe.

And Jim’d ruined it. He’d ruined everything.

This was why Jim couldn’t have nice things. Because he didn’t know how to handle people who weren’t Sam.

It’d been a cheat, though, with Sam. Because with Sam, he’d had the benefit of growing up with and having no choice but to stick around with. You learned to get used to him. You learned to take him as he was.

It wasn't Sam leaving, though. Jim had gotten over that a long time ago. Really. Now there was this empty part of him that kept on thinking why the hell it had to happen and why couldn't it have been that Sam could have stayed for a while before leaving.

_“I apologize, Jim.”_

Jim went downstairs.

_\--_

Frank wasn’t anywhere, though Mom was talking to Chris very quietly over the comm. All the lights except for the one in the kitchen were turned off. When Jim looked out the window, Frank’s car was gone. Only Mom’s car was on the driveway.

“Mom?”

She turned to look at him. All of a sudden, Jim was four again, intruding on a moment in which his mom was more than vulnerable.

“Yes, Jim?” she asked.

“Can I ask you something?” He held his breath.

“I’m busy.”

On the other side of the screen, Chris politely said, “We can continue this later.”

“No,” Winona said, pinching the skin between her closed eyes. “Please, Jimmy, can’t this wait?”

Jim knew he had no right to ask so much of her. But for some reason, he felt frustrated. He didn’t want to justify all of her reasons for pushing things for later or for being selfish, and he didn’t want to feel absolutely shitty. He just wanted to get something, one thing, and then it’d be over. She could give him this much, couldn’t she?

Couldn’t she?

“Jim.” Jim looked at the screen, where Chris nodded at him and gave him an encouraging smile. “Talk with your mom now. She has my frequency code.”

“It’s just a question,” Jim said carefully. “It can wait.”

“No, no,” Winona snapped. “It’s fine. Just…just go. Ask away. Bazam. I’ll comm you, Chris.” She cut the connection, took a deep breath, and let the furrows in her eyebrows fade.  “Grab a chair, sport. So says yo mama.”

“Mom,” Jim said, not moving. “What do you do when you piss someone off?”

She lowered her hand from her face.

Quickly, he added, “It’s not Sam.”

 “Then you be the bigger man, regardless who it is,” she said quietly. That was the exact answer Jim hadn't wanted to hear; which was why he'd come down to ask her in the first place, really.

“But what if it wasn’t my fault?” It was a lie. He knew whose fault it was, but it wasn’t all of his. Really.

No.

Jim didn't know.

Fuck. No, it was his. All his fault.

“Bigger man, Jimbo.” Still, her voice was lighter as if relieved somehow. “I know it’s hard to say sorry when you’re in the right, but it’s something you have to do sometimes.”

“Who even does that?”

“You mean say sorry?”

“No, I mean.” Jim swallowed. “Say sorry when you’re right.”

“Adults do that a lot, Jim. It’s how we keep the peace.”

“Then how come the other person isn’t doing it?” Jim asked.

She stared at him for a moment. “Hypothetically, kiddo?”

“Yeah. Hypothetically.”

“Then it’s up to you either way.”

“But you’d do the same if you were in the wrong, right?” Jim demanded, confused.

“Jim, being the bigger person doesn’t mean folding and getting pushed around and always saying sorry. It’s knowing to take the first step.” She smiled. “Sometimes, that’s all the push someone needs.”

“But what if they don’t say it’s okay?” Jim asked, even quieter. “What if they don’t want to talk to you ever again, so they ignore it? What if they hurt your feelings and say all the worst things possible?”

She picked him up and set him on the chair opposite him, then, with her hands on her knees, stared him straight in the eye. “Then, Jim Kirk,” she said very clearly, “You’ve done all that you can, and you’ll have to hope for the best.”

“That’s too much.” Jim's shoulders slumped. “Why would someone do that?”

“Friendship is a two-way street, Jimmy. If it were that easy, nobody would try.”

\--

“Spock?”

Nothing.

The code Spock had once registered himself into Jim's communicator wasn't working anymore.

\--

 _I’m sorry_ , Jim sent.

Spock didn’t reply.

Maybe he'd finally blocked Jim's comm frequency.

\--

“Mom?”

“Yeah, kiddo?”

“What if--”

“Sorry, forgot I had this on. What did you say?”

“Never mind.”

–

“Mom?”

“What's up?”

“Do you hate Sam?”

“No.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“Is that it?”

“Yeah.”

–

“Hey, Jimbo.”

“Hi, Mom.”

“It's not like you to coop yourself up.”

“I'm not.”

“Want to talk about it?”

“No.”

“Okay. I'll be downstairs.”

“Alright.”

“Jim?”

“Yeah, Mom?”

“Are we...okay? With Frank?”

“If I say the truth, will you get mad?”

“No.”

“Hey, Mom?”

“Yeah?”

“Did Sam answer the comm you sent?”

“He didn't, no.”

“I'm okay.”

“Jim?”

“I'm okay with Frank.”

“That the truth?”

“No.”

\--

>>> _Spock?_

_> >>Okay._

_> >>I have no idea whether or not you're going to get this._

_> >>Or._

_> >>Things._

_> >>I don't know._

_> >>There's a lot I want to say._

_> >>I'm sorry._

_> >>I'm really, really sorry._

_> >>I was an ass, okay? And I don't have a good reason._

_> >>Well, I **did**._

_> >>But it's not a good reason anymore._

_> >>And I_

_> >>I'm sorry._

_> >>I miss you, okay?_

_> >>I'm sorry. About what I said._

_> >>Fuck. This is so awkward._

_> >>It’s just._

_> >>My mom_

_> >>My really cool mom_

_> >>Got remarried and just_

_> >>Sam left._

_> >>And everything’s SHITTY_

_> >>And now you’re not talking to me_

_> >>You'll probably never even talk to me again._

_> >>First off I guess I better say I know how you guys do your sexy alien ritual thing._

_> >>And I know a lot about how you want to be a scientist._

_> >>And I think your mind’s really stimulating too._

_> >>Did I really just send that_

_> >>Uh._

_> >>Not that it’s bad just_

_> >>Nevermind._

_> >>Just one more thing, I guess._

_> >>I think in the future, if you give yourself a hundred years, you’re going to be the most amazing Vulcan ever._

_< <<It is curious that you would give me a century when a human lifespan usually does not exceed it._

_> >>Oh, it’s because future you’s a hundred plus that I know._

_> >>Oh._

_> >>Oh shit._

_< <<‘Oh shit’ indeed._

_> >>Uh. I’ve got amazing psychic powers and I can communicate with future you?_

Spock didn’t respond.

>>> _Wait, don’t go._

_> >>Please._

_> >>I really am sorry._

_> >>I can’t believe you’re back on._

_> >>Seriously._

_< <<Jim._

_> >>Yeah?_

_< <<Vulcans are ruled by logic._

_> >>Yeah._

_< << I cannot change to suit you. You cannot expect me to emotionally support you through every struggle you come across._

_> >>Yeah, I know._

_< <<It is inconsiderate._

_> >>I know._

_< <<As much as you are my friend, there are things I cannot give you._

_> >>Okay. I get it. I GET IT._

_> >>Does logic usually involve making these things shittier than they have to be?_

_< <<I have never intentionally allowed my emotions to dictate my actions._

_> >>What happened?_

_< <<I may have introduced another’s proboscis to the unexpected velocity of my fist._

_> >>Dude, you punched someone in the face?_

_> >>Uh_

_> >>Nose*?_

_< <<Multiple times._

_> >>what_

_< <<Five times. He was breathing heavily through his mouth by the time I was forcefully removed from his person._

Even reading this sounded painful, not to mention surprising. Jim didn't know how much he'd put Spock on a pedestal of the too-high-and-mighty until now. He couldn't even grow to picture a younger version of the old man, smashing someone's face to the point that their nose broken, three times stronger than a human being or no. Spock one hundred years later had that peaceful thing going on, like someone who'd found the meaning of life, and it was hard to imagine him erratic or overly emotional with a me-smash-you-run mindset. Spock right now usually had the _I have everything under control_ gig going on. Both of them were peace loving vegetarians who only needed to sleep once a week. One of them was a benevolent old person. The other was a sarcasm-o-meter in the making with an almost too stiff back to him.

 _Why?_ Jim asked.

_< <<He insulted my mother._

Jim let out a breath of air, and felt his shoulders heave.

 _I knew you had it in you,_ he sent. _Asshole deserved it. So did I._

It felt right to have sent that. Like maybe Jim knew for sure that, while saying that wasn't going to make things between them better, but it'd help Spock feel better. About what he did.

 _Jim_ , Spock sent at last.

 _Spock,_ Jim replied, out of habit.

_< <<I believe apologies are in order._

_> >>Yeah. It's bad enough that it's you I have to do it to._

Wait. No. That didn’t sound right. That wasn’t what Jim wanted to say at all.

_> >>I mean, it’s not like. Y’know, right? What we had._

No, that wasn’t it either. Frustrated, Jim slammed the keyboard, inched his chair forward and tried again.

_> >>What I’m trying to say is that I just want things back to normal. Or, I'm trying to._

_> >>Like, when you were chill with it, I was chill with it, and you didn’t understand half of what I was saying so I could be as much as I wanted to be._

_> >>And we didn't have to apologize. Ever. We could be these utter shitheads to each other, and it wouldn't even matter._

Spock didn’t respond for a moment. Jim was prepared to think that his comm frequency really had been blocked, or Spock had stopped bothering to retrieve and unscramble his messages altogether.

 _Spock?_ He sent, tentatively. If Spock didn't respond, Jim was going to. Going to what? _Are you there?_

 _Jim,_ Spock sent at last. _I am afraid you have misinterpreted my intention._

 _Oh yeah._ Jim’s heart fell, even as his fingers typed out the message, a lump in his throat growing. _Yeah._

_< <<Jim?_

_> >>Okay. I get it. I get it._

_< <<No, Jim. I do not believe you do._

_> >>No, I do. It's okay._

_< <<It is forgiven._

What?

Jim just stared at the screen.

_< <<Whether from I to you or you to I, it is forgiven._

_< <<You must understand. That while I am Vulcan, I still remain half-human. And that while I am half-human, I am still Vulcan. There is a battle I constantly face with myself. And yet despite all the logic and all the intelligible benefits of being a Vulcan, I have never met another being as welcoming and unjudging as you._

_< <<My mother is important to me. I care for her more than should logically expected. As such, I could understand the confusion and betrayal that you felt with yours. Had my own sought a new relationship, I would have been thoroughly conflicted._

_< <<I do not discuss a great deal as easily with my parents as you do with your mother. The basis of my beliefs begin in the foundations of logic that I have learned. At the same time, I have never ventured to question your tendency to go about questioning all that you come across._

_< <<What you must understand is that I am no more justifying myself to you than you need justify yourself. It is acceptable that while we are morally different and conflict in even the most simplistic of ways, it is as fascinating as it is for me to know you as you to know me._

_< <<You are my friend, Jim. I would not willingly lose you to anything if it is in my power to keep you._

A pause.

<<< _I am finished. You may be free to go about your own conclusions._

Jim was pretty sure he was supposed to say something really smart and intelligent here. Maybe thanking Spock for his sudden—no, it wasn’t sudden. Maybe it was something Spock had been thinking about for a long time, ever since they had begun comming back and forth. The only thing Jim could think about was the fact that—

 _Wait_ , Jim said. _You're half-human? How does that even work?_

 _Jim_ , Spock sent back, exasperated.

To Jim’s surprise, he sent something else.

 _Jim_ , Spock said gently. _For once in your life, I would recommend that you kindly shut the hell up and savour the moment._

Jim laughed.

>>> _YOU CANNOT TAME ME_

_> >>No, but_

_> >>Thanks, Spock. Really. Thanks. I don’t deserve you._

_< <<And I you._

Jim waited.

_< <<Yes, Jim, you may resume your theatrics._

_> >>I knew there was a reason we were friends._

_> >>Okay, so_

_> >>You never mentioned being half-human! Oh my god. Do you have like a human and alien hybrid dick? Is that why you never send me holo-pics?_

_> >>Spock, you sly dog! Holding out on me!_

_< <<Jim, I am not a dog._

_> >>I thought you guys had a Prime Directive thing going on. Did you guys alien-abduct her?_

_< <<You mentioned earlier an alternate version of myself._

_> >>SHTIGSLN:_

_< <<My mother hails from an alternate dimension._

_> >>That’s oddly really convenient._

_< <<As convenient, I presume, as you being acquaintances with my future self._

_> >>Touché._

_> >>Technically, though, he’s you only he lives on Earth too. Long story. Starship crashing. Also he knows future me._

_> >>And I_

_> >>I need to apologize to him._

_> >>Shit_

_> >>I_

_< <<He has been and always will be your friend._

_< <<He will understand, Jim._

_< <<Go._

\--

 “Old man?” he called, as he wandered through the fields. “You there?”

Even if the code had been working, Jim knew he wouldn’t have had the guts to comm him. In a way, it wouldn’t have seemed right, not after almost everything Spock had given him and after Jim had just royally screwed up. A comm to say I’m sorry was a dick move no matter how much you couldn’t talk to them face to face. With older Spock, Jim wanted to at least tell it to his face.

It’d already occurred to him that the old man might’ve left already. The Jellyfish’s repairs had almost been complete, and Jim was sure the only reason it’d taken this long was because Spock had let Jim help out.

Jim had long since memorized where the Jellyfish had been, but now, faced with a row of cornfield where there didn’t seem to be any sign of anything, he had to admit that it may as well be have been a bit too late.

He felt a lump in his throat.

“Spock? Are you there?” There wasn’t an answer.

Fuck.

He was too late.

\--

Okay, maybe it wasn’t too late.

Jim found himself standing right in the transporter region of the Jellyfish, thoroughly freaked out of wits, and tense as anything else. Spock was standing at the station, long robes that he probably had been wearing ever since—unless somehow, Vulcans had this amazing ability to look like their clothes never got dirty or anything—the first day Jim had met him. While he didn’t look as alien as Jim had originally thought, Jim couldn’t help but get the feeling that Spock had been waiting for him.

“Hi,” he said, when there was no greeting forthcoming.

“Hello, Jim,” Spock said.

Jim shifted on his feet. This was awkward. More awkward than awkward. Apologizing to younger Spock had been easy; he didn’t have to look him in the face, and he didn’t have to remember the look on Spock’s face when Jim had to have opened his big fat mouth and forget that Vulcans had feelings too and that maybe Spock did feel bad about it as much as Jim was upset by it.

The Jellyfish that had once felt so _normal—_ well, if you had normal in a starship from the 24th century—what with its regular panels and whatnot was now alight with a sort of blue glow. Jim didn’t know if it was an aftereffect of the power now humming through the ship, but all he could say was that it made everything feel a lot more alien than it should’ve. It hit him then that Spock really _was_ an alien—he came from a different planet, and he certainly didn’t need to have had a ten-year-old throw a tantrum at him.

It’d been easy to start with other Spock. Maybe it’d been because it’d just been by a comm; and Jim didn’t need to feel judged at all. It wasn’t that it felt like Spock was judging him _now_ , or that he’d ever, but Jim couldn’t help but feel that he’d disappointed the old man in a way, or let him down. Saying ‘sorry’ right now felt flippant. Saying anything right now or even moving was different—with other Spock, Jim hadn’t even known he would’ve responded, and it’d just been easy to spill.

Perhaps sensing his insecurities, Spock took a step back. Jim flinched at the memory, and stared at his feet.

“Welcome, Jim Kirk,” a mechanical voice said. Jim almost jumped out of his skin.

“Is that the voice—” Of God, Jim was about to say, but then he held himself back when Spock inclined his head. Oh. It was the starship’s voice.

The starship was back online with all its power. Spock didn’t need to turn off the voice thing anymore. Everything was back in working, functional order.

It reminded Jim that Spock needed to go now. He wasn’t going to stay. He wasn’t forever. He couldn’t stay and be Jim’s older, well-informed, amazingly bad-ass friend anymore. Repairing the starship had always distracted Jim from the real reasons behind it; that someday, Spock wasn’t going to be here to hang out in the afternoons after school or on week-ends, or that Spock wasn’t going to be there to act as a reference guide to other Spock that Jim had yet to really know.

He opened his mouth, but didn’t know what to say.

This was different. This Spock had known Jim for years beyond how old Jim was now. Whatever Jim Spock had known and encountered, had become friends with and the like, definitely had made an impression somehow. What would it have felt like to have a younger version of your best friend tell you everything you’d never thought you’d hear him say in your life? Jim was pretty sure when he was an adult, he would’ve learned control. When you were an adult, you learned how to pretend not to really feel things. You learned how to tolerate things, and you learned to basically be a likeable person and not an insufferable and bratty kid.

“You have a close relationship with your mother,” Spock said. It was more of a deduction and less of an observation on the old man’s part, but Jim couldn’t really deny it.

“Yeah.” Hunching his shoulders, he watched warily for any signs of hostility, but that was like a Vulcan eating meat. “I think it had something to do with the fact that I was born when my dad died.”

It felt strange to admit that out loud. The last time Jim had done so, he’d done it negatively, and Sam had punched him in the face and told him never to repeat it again.

“Your future self,” Spock said quietly, “Had always known his father.”

“Yeah?” Jim asked. “That’s nice. Was he a dick?”

“It was due to George Kirk’s influence that you decided to join Starfleet.”

“Oh. Okay.” Jim lowered his eyes and tried to find somewhere to look that wasn’t at Spock’s face. Why was it suddenly so hard? He wasn’t here to stall. Jim didn’t like stalling. But a lump in his throat wouldn’t go away, and it felt like he was in a territory he didn’t belong in, tackling a subject he wasn’t even sure how to start. “Did I like Sam too?”

“The two of you were on amiable terms.”

“That’s nice,” Jim said. “At least one of us can be happy.”

The air seemed to go colder. Jim couldn’t take it anymore. He looked up at Spock.

“I don’t want you to be angry,” he admitted. “Or sad. Or upset. Or just—anything like that, ever. You don’t deserve anyone being an asshole to you like that.” Jim swallowed. “Ever.”

Shit. What was Jim even thinking?

“I was not offended, or angered in anyway. I understood,” Spock said quietly. “You need not apologize.”

Jim swallowed again. “I'm sorry,” he said, voice cracking. “Okay? I have to—I don’t—I’m _sorry._ ”

When Spock didn’t say anything, Jim had to look up. There was something almost readable in Spock’s eyes, something that was just—Jim’s mouth went dry even when Spock spoke.

“It was always forgiven.”

And see, that was _awkward._ Jim couldn't understand how it was that someone could just forgive so willy-nilly. Jim couldn’t imagine life without holding a grudge.

Why was that even so _easy?_

When he managed to get a grip on himself, feeling insanely…conflicted—Spock was still there.

“Are you alright, Jim?” Spock asked.

“Why are you still talking to me?”

Spock inclined his head. “Is there a reason I should not?”

“I'm this little shitcake full of emotional tidal waves and—” Jim gestured wildly, “I don’t even know, how did you even tolerate me when I was an adult?”

“Jim,” Spock said, and it was the first time Jim had ever really heard something akin to firmness in his voice that bordered around fierce. It reminded him that Spock _could_ get angry, that he wasn't just this all Zen alien hanging out in Jim's backyard. “When you met me, it was you who took the initiative to extend a hand of friendship to one who had never had it so willingly before. In those thirty years, you showed me both compassion and virtues that difficult to find in this universe, offering a half-Vulcan who was an outcast within his own people what he could not have expected to ever have received.” His eyes softened, as did his tone. “It is you who has encouraged others with your own strong beliefs that they will become great men and women themselves, and I will not stand to see you speak so little of the man you will become.”

“But I'm not him,” Jim said fiercely. “That’s not fair. You can’t just tell me I’m going to be this amazing, great person one day, and just expect me to accept that. I’m not that great.”

“You are and you will be.” Spock’s eyes warmed. “I have every faith in that.”

Jim couldn’t help it. It wasn’t in him to just _accept_ a compliment—well, he had, several times in the past, but it was different now. Suddenly Spock was telling him all of those great things he was _going_ to become. The one person’s life that he was _going_ to change. Somehow, Jim didn’t think being an asshole to the Spock his age was what Spock meant by showing friendship. “What makes you think that the Jim Kirk you know is the same as me?” he demanded.

“It is not every day that someone asks me about my ears immediately after encountering me, regardless of the impeding and almost unintentional possible insult,” Spock said.

“He asked about your pointy ears?” Jim asked, in disbelief. “Wow.”

“As well, I have reasons to believe that encountering you here at this stage in your life is a most unexpected gift. A long time ago, it was you who showed someone who had even begun to doubt himself that all was not lost. You did not give up on me when I was in risk of death.”

“Of course I wouldn’t,” Jim said fiercely. “If future me did that, I’d kick his ass, even if you did like him.” Trying to picture Spock as— _dead_ —he couldn’t. He didn’t want to. It made him his hands shake and his stomach clench just to even think that one day, Spock wouldn’t be around anymore. “And you didn’t die, because you’re right here,” Jim added. “So no butt-kicking today.”

“You also sacrificed your ship and your career so that I would be able to stay by your side.”

“I think you’re a lot more important than a dumb starship, you know,” Jim said, squinting and trying to figure out where Spock was going with this. “If he loves a starship, then he’s got some screws loose.”

“In you is a great capacity to love,” Spock said, eyes twinkling.

“Okay, maybe I would love her engines,” Jim admitted. “Are they nice engines? Purr-purr engines? The kind you could technically make-love-to engines?”

Spock raised an eyebrow.

“Not my fault,” Jim said automatically. “Also, on the sacrificing my career thing. Unknown Other Enemies versus You? I’ll take my chances sticking with a logical, desert-tromping, leafy-eating, three-times-as-strong-as-me, half-Vulcan not-a-machine, thanks.”

“Indeed,” Spock replied, amused. “Your chances of survival are greatly increased within my immediate presence.”

“I bet it’s true too,” Jim said with a grin. A small quirk at the side of Spock’s mouth meant he agreed too, and Jim couldn’t help but think for an instant that—that he’d miss him. “Hey. Are you—are you going to go now? Back to Vulcan, I mean. Your world.”

“It would be near impossible to return through the exact same wormhole that carried me here.”

“Oh.” Despite the bad news, Jim couldn’t help but suddenly feel happy. “That means I can—can I visit you? Or could you visit me?” There had to be a bit of desperation or a plea of some sort in his voice. But Jim couldn’t help it.

“Do you recognize this frequency?” Spock asked him kindly, instead. It was completely random and off-topic, and Jim had no idea where Spock was going with thi—

Oh.

Forget recognizing it, Jim had it _memorized_. Suddenly all the warm fuzzies disappeared to be replaced by anxious writhing.

He nodded, looking down, not trusting himself to speak. Beside him, Spock inputted the command into the comm system manually.

“Greetings,” Spock said quietly to the screen, and took a step to the side. “I take it you have had many an entertaining conversation with a Jim Kirk.”

“Greetings,” replied an unfamiliar voice from the comm that Jim couldn’t help but think would have been hilarious for its stiffness alone, “I take it you are my future self. Fascinating.”

Jim counted to ten, took a breath, and looked up.

Jim hadn't been expecting much. The old man had been super easy on the eyes. Aged gracefully, that sort of thing. But he'd expected someone a lot older looking, maybe someone a lot more mature looking; nerdy, almost. Instead, what he got was a kid who couldn't have been taller than him, thin and almost _reedy_ who looked small for his age, with this bowl cut that should've looked horrible but actually made him look more Spock.

And, in essence, _right_.

Holy crap, this guy even had the slanted _eyebrows_.

They stared at each other.

“Like what you see?” Jim finally asked, before he could stop himself. Because either way, you could _not_ deny that Spock was _checking him out._ In a really platonic, probably logical Spock-like way, but still.

Both Spocks raised an eyebrow at the exact same time. High-fives for continuity. It wasn’t Jim’s fault that he couldn’t stifle the grin on his face.

In response, Spock on screen gave him a look that fit perfectly on him. It would've been almost condescending had it not been for the fact that his eyes warmed, just like other Spock’s whenever he looked at him.

“Jim,” Spock said quietly, tone slightly scolding though fond at the same time.

Jim just beamed.

THE END

 

**Author's Note:**

>   
>  U-Uh. If you like to read End Notes. I'm really happy if you made it this far. Thank you!  
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> There are several people I'd like to thank, mostly because I am a huge goop of goober and I still don't know if I can write as well as many of you, but I'm proud of what I've done because I've managed to make it happen. I've managed it. I've survived.  
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> So let's go:  
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> First off, I want to thank everyone at the K/S Big Bang who has been supportive with their workshops and their friendly spirit. Seriously. I want to come back next year and or I will scream to the heavens and roll around and be sad. Hence, my gratefulness towards Amnesty Week. What would we do without you?  
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> Second, I want to thank Awesome for basically thinking everything I write is the shit, because my low self-esteem leaves little to be desired. Awesome, I don't know what to say or what I did to suddenly have you on board and being so impressed with me going over 40k when 15k is the minimum (shouldn't you know by now that I jump everywhere and I'm too sporadic to understand myself)? But geebus. You're always supporting me and just--you say the most heartwarming and amazing things that give me courage in myself.  
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> Third, I want to thank Fuujin for making dick jokes and horribly ruining Kirk/Spock for me by giving me ideas to continue this series. This story is over and complete, but I'm definitely planning on writing things in this universe. Fuujin is the one that makes love go round, and I can't believe how horribly inappropriate I can ever get with you. You're inspiring, engaging, and for some reason you can give me so many ideas my head both spins, and I choke in outrageous delight at how uncontained your sense of humour is.  
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> But overall, most of all, and definitely the person I want to end my End Notes with, I want to thank Nikanika. Nikanika, you've betaed my Big Bang , you've been supportive and straight with me, you've talked me out of re-writing my whole Big Bang because seriously I can't do that, you prevented me from having a panic attack on July 29th when this whole Big Bang was actually do and DEFINITELY NOT OVER 40k AHAHAHA, you've supported me for a lot of things I was originally insecure about, and you have been one the most special people in my life ever. You've been with me through the time and the effort it took to bring this baby to life, and you've made my mix for me, and you've just been the most special, most wonderful, and most patient and lovely person ever. Thank you, and if you're reading this End Notes now, know that I dedicate this story to you.  
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> For everyone else:  
> I can't thank you enough for reading, or thinking this is worth enough of your time to read. I hope it was worth it, and I hope you enjoyed it, and I hope a lot of things that I can't really be certain of, but I don't regret it. Cheers!


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